


Without the Bitter, the Sweet Isn't As Sweet

by isthislove



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Drug Use, Explicit Language, F/M, M/M, Minor Violence, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-22 04:26:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 46,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isthislove/pseuds/isthislove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year after One Direction's fiery break-up, Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles are thrown together as they face the unwanted task of a reunion concert. As their lives become intertwined once again, past wounds and secrets will resurface as they struggle to deal with the unexpected turn of events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I was originally going to post this story on my tumblr, but I just got too lazy to deal with the formatting after one chapter so I am transferring it on to here. We'll see how this goes! Some of the warnings are for later chapters, so I will put up any warnings at the beginnings of the relevant chapters. And some of the characters/relationships will pop up later in the work, so hold tight. The song the title comes from is from Mayday Parade, so check it out, it's lovely. And the usual disclaimer: I don't own any of 1D, this is all make-believe, etc. Enjoy!

Louis _literally_ runs into Liam in the dairy section of Tesco's. He turns a corner with a bit more speed than called for and crashes his cart right into Liam's, who was of course navigating it down the aisle with the heedful air of someone who is constantly on alert. For a long moment they just stare at each other with flushed faces, both scrabbling for something to say. Louis seriously considers just grabbing the carton of eggs he was going for and then pushing his cart away in a mad dash, but Liam gets to his words first. 

“Sorry, mate.” He rubs the back of his neck as he gives Louis an apologetic grimace. 

Louis shrugs, mirroring the same look of discomfort. “'S alright.” 

Another awkward moment of silence follows and Louis wants to ask Liam why he's at this Tesco's anyway, seeing as there's one closer to his own flat (and no, Louis is _not_ being territorial over a grocery store, he's just curious). But that isn't a very polite question so he thinks maybe asking about Liam's family might be a better idea in this situation. Before he knows it, Liam is again ruining any sort of plan he might have put into action by opening his mouth.

“I, uh, I should go,” he's saying as he edges his cart around Louis'. 

Louis clears his throat, nods. “Right. Can't be seen speaking to each other, yeah?”

The last fleeting look he gets of Liam's face is of an expression pinched with uneasiness and maybe something resembling regret. Even after Liam has disappeared from view, Louis just stands there, wondering how things had gotten so fucked up. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first thing Louis does once he gets home is storm into Zayn's room and fling the door open so violently the other man lets out an uncharacteristic squeal from where he's lying on his bed. Louis crosses the room in a few long strides and collapses face first onto the bed next to Zayn without asking for permission (he doesn't need permission, fuck asking for permission). He groans loudly, smashing his face into a pillow that smells like the familiar mixture of expensive cologne and cigarette smoke – eau de Zayn Malik.

“Christ, Lou,” Zayn says, sighing loudly. “What's up?” 

“I saw Liam at bloody _Tesco's_ , that's what's up,” Louis grumbles, almost inaudible against the pillow his face is buried in. 

Zayn lets out another weary sigh and follows it up with a poke to Louis' side, making the other man squeak and shift away a bit. He's well-versed in the art of comforting Louis by now but time and experience does not make it any more enjoyable of a task. Some days, he's convinced that he's somehow adopted a six-year-old in the body of his twenty-two-year-old best friend. Even more frequently he wants to throw his hands up in the air and ask: _what have I done to deserve this?_

“Did you?” Zayn asks, rolling onto his front and dropping his head onto the covers so that his face is just a few inches away from Louis' where it's still hidden.

“'S what I said, yeah?” Comes the grumbled reply. 

“Okay, and what happened?”

“It was bloody weird, like we were … strangers.” 

Zayn frowns, closes his eyes tightly. He doesn't want to get frustrated but it's difficult because all he feels is really, really pissed off whenever something like this happens. It's impossible to avoid the other boys completely, seeing as they all live in London still and they all regularly attend the same events but it doesn't mean he's become immune to the deep-rooted rage that billows up inside at the sight of the others. Trying to ignore the simmering anger, Zayn throws his arm over Louis' back and curls his hand against the other man's side.

“Just forget about it, Lou,” Zayn mumbles against the blankets. “Nothing we can do about it.” 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The atmosphere of the club is thick and pulsating, almost suffocating in its density. Any other night, it would've been thrilling. Tonight, it's borderline repulsive. 

Louis is sitting at the bar, finger lightly tracing the sweaty curve of the beer bottle in front of him as Zayn slumps next to him doing practically the same thing with his own bottle. They've been quiet all night, pushing away anybody who dares to approach them with forced smiles and clipped words. It's not exactly the most productive way to act at a club, and really, what are they even doing here if they're not interested in socializing? But truthfully, neither of them are looking for anything but an excuse to get drunk somewhere other than their messy flat. 

So far, their plan is working out fairly badly. Louis is on his third beer of the night and doesn't even feel a buzz (however, he has every intention of ordering a round of shots next and knocking back every single one in rapid succession). 

Zayn, on the other hand, is struggling through his first beer at such a slow pace the bartender keeps throwing him concerned looks. Nobody at a club on a Saturday night drinks like that unless they're brooding quite severely over something and that level of angst is never a good thing when you're around other people.

“Mate, you're embarrassing yourself,” Louis hisses after he drains his bottle, setting it back down on the bar with a triumphant thump.

Zayn frowns, shakes his head. “I can't do it. I honestly cannot keep drinking.” 

“Yes, you can,” Louis replies curtly as he gestures at the bartender. “We are not leaving this club until you are so drunk you -”

Before Louis can get another word in, there's a commotion at the entrance of the club and both men direct their eyes in that direction, eyebrows raised. 

They watch as three familiar figures appear like glowing beacons through the door, the man in the lead stumbling clumsily over the threshold. Louis' breath catches in his throat and he watches, shamelessly mesmerized, as Harry Styles straightens his long legs under his equally lengthy torso, a hand clamped tightly on Liam's shoulder. 

Harry's laughing loudly at something, probably himself. His green eyes are narrowed in mirth as he reaches out to grab the snapback off the head of the other man they're with, who Louis can clearly see even through the awful lighting is Niall. The Three Musketeers. The Three Amigos. The Trio of Twats. They have a lot of nerve, really, showing up at this club when there are so many others to choose from. 

Louis jerks violently back into consciousness as Zayn grabs his knee, squeezing too tightly. 

“Lou.” Zayn's voice is deathly serious, swiftly anchoring Louis to the critical situation at hand.

Louis' voice is a bit choked when he replies. “Yeah?”

“We need to get drunk.”

“I know.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Six shots of rum each and half an hour later, Louis and Zayn are smoothly cruising down the highway of intoxication.

They are still sitting at the bar in their original places, but are now giggling furiously at nothing and everything at the same time. They're doing their best to hold in their liquored-up glee but failing quite spectacularly. Sometimes Louis can't help but let out a shrill, high-pitched peal of laughter, making Zayn dissolve into hysterics. 

The bartender no longer looks worried but now looks irritated, like they're seriously putting a damper on his otherwise enjoyable night. Which may or may not be the case – who really wants to deal with two trashed ex-pop stars?

“I – I don't even -” Louis is stammering, his face bright red, “What am I even _saying_?”

“I don't know, mate, I don't know,” Zayn crows out in reply, shaking his head more fiercely than necessary. 

His once carefully done quiff (without that streak of blonde in it, thank god - Louis managed to talk him into dying it out) is deflated pitifully against his forehead. Louis' shirt, once buttoned-up neatly, is undone far enough that a vee of tanned, slightly damp skin is exposed. They're on their merry way to looking like a pair of drunken slobs with no sense of self-pride but neither can really be arsed to care. Their three ex-best mates are in the same club as them, _breathing the same air as them_ , and they will not allow that sort of disruption to ruin their night. 

Louis lets out a delayed chuckle. “I need to dance or – or maybe I need to drink some more?” The bartender shoots a sharp warning glance in Louis' direction and the blue-eyed man immediately falters. “Maybe I'll just dance?”

“Yeah, yeah, let's dance,” Zayn agrees airily, nodding loosely like a bobble-head as he maneuvers himself off of the bar stool with both hands. “I'll go find myself a pretty girl and you go find yourself a fit bloke and -”

But Louis is already gone, weaving unsteadily away from the bar and towards the dance floor. He can already tell that he's going to hate himself and his decisions in the morning because drinking rum always ends in an agonizing hangover the next day. But it's too late to un-drink those shots. Plus, he deserves to get a bit crazy, doesn't he? 

He honestly cannot remember the last time he went out and had a really good time. He usually just sticks to drinking at home and if he does drink out in public, it's because he's at some event (usually for some charity, which is funny because it's incredibly charitable of him to even show up). Drinking numerous flutes of champagne is the only way he can keep himself from running out of the building screaming during those things.

Louis manages to entrench himself firmly into the mass of writhing, grinding bodies within no time and although he doesn't have a dance partner already lined up, he joins in with just as much gusto as those who do. Because rum is not only the bringer of massive fucking hangovers but also the cause of what Zayn calls 'Louis Dance Mania' or LDM. During these episodes, he becomes even more liberated than usual and has no qualms about dry humping random people on the dance floor to the beat of top 40 hits. Tonight is no exception to the rum rule. 

At some point, a pair of hands grip his hips and he turns his head to smile at the blonde girl behind him. Not exactly a 'fit bloke' but she's giving him a cheeky grin as she rubs herself against his back and that works.

He's not sure how long he dances for or with how many people (he keeps finding himself getting grabbed from behind by both men and women without receiving any warning and without giving any authorization) but he thinks it's probably been a fairly long time when he glances up and sees Zayn. He's bobbing up and down over the throng of people dancing, trying to get his attention. He looks like a right idiot, and Louis wants to tell someone just that, but the guy currently plastered onto him like he's trying to become his conjoined twin is definitely too into groping Louis' ample ass to appreciate such an observation. 

With a frown and furrow of his brows, Louis raises one arm above the heads of those around him and spreads his palm upwards as if to say 'what?'. He briefly loses sight of Zayn as the other man gets swallowed into a mass of people attempting some sort of group performance to the song that's blaring overhead (who do they think they are? The cast from that bloody awful American movie? What is it? Step Off?) but a second later Zayn is fighting his way out. 

Nobody seems to give a flying fuck that they're being pushed aside by Zayn Malik, former member of One Direction; they all throw him the same nasty glare that they'd give any other rude asshat steamrolling through the otherwise harmonious dance floor. 

“Lou!” Zayn manages to yell out before he's being pulled in between two girls who seem to be determined to get into his pants a.s.a.p (Louis is convinced that he actually sees his best mate slapping away a pair of hands getting too close to his jeans zipper). 

“What?” Louis bellows, cupping his hands around his mouth in hopes that his words will carry. 

They clearly don't because Zayn is now looking almost intrigued as the girl pressed to his front leans up to say something into his ear. Louis rolls his eyes because typical Zayn to get sidetracked by a pretty face. Without a word of apology, Louis pulls away from the guy who has been basically dancing on him like a stripper on a pole and threads his way back out to the bar. 

The same bartender gives him a withering look but doesn't protest when Louis orders a rum and coke, just makes it and sends it skittering down the bar. He's still feeling quite loose but his throat itches and he's suddenly afraid that he'll start sobering up before he even leaves the club. That seems very, very wrong so he knocks back the drink in his hand in one go. 

Louis is savoring the burn of alcohol and carbonation searing his esophagus with his eyes closed when a body pushes up against him, trying to fight its way to the bar. He opens his eyes with every intention of telling the person to fucking step off (oh, nope, that movie was Step _Up_ , wasn't it?) but when he sees who it is, he immediately falls silent. 

Harry doesn't seem to notice who he's just jostled aside or if he has, he doesn't acknowledge it, which stings quite a bit because who the hell does Harry think he is? Louis is honestly too drunk right now to be pressed right up next to Harry Styles against his will. Being discreet about his displeasure really can't be expected.

“Well, hello,” Louis says, already throwing in a dramatic eye roll, “Didn't you learn not to push people back in school?”

Harry's green eyes snap down to his shoulder where Louis' head is hovering and there's a confused blankness in them as he wraps his mind around the situation he's suddenly found himself in. Louis is looking up at him with a disgruntled gaze, his blue eyes practically rippling with a promise of sass. 

As if burned, Harry swiftly turns his body so that he's as far away from Louis as possible, which isn't very far, seeing as a bar stool blocks him in from behind. Louis briefly considers punching Harry in the face while there's still time because he's never been in a bar fight before and why not start one now? But then he's being distracted by the sudden change of expression on Harry's face.

“And didn't you learn not to hog the entire bar with your enormous ass?” Harry shoots back, eyes cold. 

Louis' eyes widen with offense for a split second before narrowing into slits. “I'm sorry, do they teach that in school as well?”

Before the conversation can get much further, Zayn is stumbling into the two of them like he's done so on purpose but the fiery glare he throws over his shoulder indicates that he's been pushed quite disrespectfully by someone. 

Neither Harry nor Louis say anything, just wait for the inevitable dawning of realization. It takes the next few moments for Zayn to recognize who he's currently draped over and it takes him much less time to pull away at the sight of Harry's blood-chilling scowl. 

“Bloody fucking hell,” he says, his eyes flickering over to Louis then back to Harry. “What's -”

“I was just about to leave, actually,” Harry interrupts coolly, already shimmying away from the bar while doing an exemplary job at not touching Zayn on the way, “Sorry I can't chat, lads.” 

After he's gone, Louis looks up at Zayn and quirks up one corner of his mouth. 

“I was just about to get into my first bar fight, Zayn. Then you had to come around and ruin it for me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short filler chapter, but it's just introducing the important twist in the story, so! The next chapter will be up right after it, anyway, so ... enjoy! And the usual disclaimer: I don't own any of 1D, this is all make-believe, etc.

Louis and Zayn spend the next several hours vomiting back at their flat, both taking turns over the toilet. It should be a bonding moment for the two but instead they find themselves knocking against each other rather violently, fighting for possession. At some point Louis considers just throwing up right on Zayn's back but he has _some_ remnant of respect for himself and his friend, so he just holds in the riptide of rum and whatever he ate for dinner until Zayn moves over. This situation they're in seems highly inappropriate for two twenty-something-year-olds.

They say absolutely nothing for most of the first hour, the only noises interrupting the silence being Zayn's revolting hacks and Louis' pitiful whimpers (he'd always thought that people cried as they puked because they were just that sad but no, he's realized that his face literally cannot take the pressure of heaving and so tears come out). They look pathetic and although it really does not need to be said, it seems almost obligatory that it gets brought up at least once because what's a night out without some sort of self-pitying reflection afterwards? 

“You couldn't even make it to your own loo,” Zayn mutters as he leans away from the toilet and back against the wall. “You're helping me clean tomorrow.”

Louis is wiping away a couple of stray tears from his eyes but smiles at Zayn's words. “Yep. Sad, aren't we?”

“What'd you think the other three are doing right now?”

Louis lets out a small hum as he leans his elbow against the seat of the toilet, not even bothering to be disgusted at himself.

“Probably getting some hot action.” 

“You think?” Zayn sighs, looking wistful.

“Yeah. They probably didn't drink themselves sick, if that's what you're wondering. They probably had a lovely time at the club and left with the three most attractive people there. They're probably all keeping their neighbors awake right at this moment.”

“I got invited to a threesome,” Zayn murmurs. “I could've made us proud.”

“What are you even _doing_ here?” Louis asks, giving Zayn a bewildered look. 

Zayn closes his eyes and inhales deeply through his nose. “I'm puking up my guts with my best mate. That's what I'm doing here.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As predicted, Louis wakes up hating himself and wishing he could drown himself in a vat of second chances. 

He'd made it back to his own bed sometime during the wee hours of the morning and apparently had had the presence of mind to strip himself completely naked before getting in. He is both ashamed and pleased with himself for having remembered such a nonessential detail. However, he'd clearly forgot to brush his teeth and even if something had crawled in and died in his mouth while he was asleep, he wouldn't be able to tell. He lies in bed for several minutes, staring at the ceiling and rolling his tongue around his mouth, absolutely repulsed yet fascinated by the furriness on his teeth. He feels like he could be his own science project.

With a groan, Louis rolls out of bed and pulls on the boxer briefs he wore last night. He can hear Zayn's loud snoring through the wall. He's comforted by the knowledge that he hadn't slept peacefully on as his best mate choked to death on his own vomit because that truly would've rounded off a disastrous night. Not that Louis considers last night a total flop. Sure, they'd run into Harry and had gotten far too drunk for their own good but that doesn't mean it hadn't been interesting, at least. And yeah, that was the first time in several months since he'd spoken to Harry and okay, it hadn't gone all that swimmingly, but at least they hadn't been forcefully removed from the venue like last time. 

Once he's finished up brushing his teeth, Louis shuffles into the kitchen and sets about making tea and simultaneously checking Twitter on his laptop. Even though One Direction is no longer together, his number of Twitter followers is about the same as when it was still going strong. It seems that people haven't stopped getting a kick out of his ramblings, which have undoubtedly become more comical since the group's disbanding. As far as Louis can see, he can tweet whatever the hell he wants now without management breathing down his neck. But it's not as fun anymore, if he's honest. He no longer follows Liam, Harry or Niall and sending crude tweets back and forth with Zayn is only so stimulating. 

“Anything good?” 

Louis shrugs as Zayn pads into the kitchen, also half-dressed. Zayn goes straight for the cabinet with all the medicine and pulls down the bottle of paracetamol. Louis smirks before his eyes go back to his laptop (even though that's exactly what he did as soon as he entered the kitchen). From what he can tell by scrolling down the page, everybody either had a quiet, uneventful night in or is still recovering and haven't made it on to Twitter yet. Mug in hand, Louis takes his laptop to the breakfast counter and slides onto a stool.

“People are boring,” Louis complains, sipping at his tea and solemnly reading through a couple of posts. 

“Because your tweets are so exciting,” Zayn drawls, leaning against the counter across from Louis. “That one tweet about laundry detergent was absolutely enthralling.”

“Excuse you,” Louis snaps, “But I am not the only person who questions whether or not 'Fresh Mountain Breeze' really smells like a fresh mountain breeze!”

They're still bickering over the quality of Louis' tweets when a sharp ringing interrupts them. One eyebrow raised, Zayn picks his phone up from where it's lying by his elbow and puts it to ear. Louis goes back to his laptop, this time clicking onto the BBC webpage for a quick news update. He's reading about some politician's sordid affair with a call girl when his attention is snagged by the tone of Zayn's voice. The other man is still on the phone with his back turned to Louis, fiddling with the word magnets on the fridge. 

“Right, okay,” Zayn is saying, sounding hesitant. “I'll talk to Louis about it but I'm not really sure … okay, right. Yes, I'll get back to you about it as soon as possible. Bye.”

When he turns around, Louis is already focusing in on him with a steady gaze. 

“Who was that?”

“Management,” Zayn says, looking almost guilty. 

“We don't have management anymore,” Louis corrects. “We're free men.”

“Right, our old management. Whatever.”

“And what do they want?” Louis brings his mug to his lips but he doesn't really taste the hot liquid; he's thinking too hard about what Zayn might say next. 

“Well, they were wondering if we'd, uh … we'd do a reunion performance, I guess?” 

The kitchen gets so quiet and still it's entirely possible that time has stopped. Louis blinks slowly at Zayn, mug still clutched in both hands and Zayn just looks back at him with an unreadable expression. Someone has to break the silence but neither of them seem very keen on the idea of it being them. 

Zayn reaches up and runs a hand through his flat hair, averting his eyes from Louis' uncomfortably fixed stare. Louis just sets his mug down because hell no, this is not bloody happening. They promised.

“Wankers,” Louis snarls at last. 

“Yeah,” Zayn replies dumbly, wincing. 

“What do they want us to do that for? Haven't they gotten enough money, using us?” Louis is on a roll and not much will stop him. “Wasn't that a part of our contract, that they leave us the fuck alone?”

“I – I don't remember,” Zayn says with a shrug. “I thought so?”

A moment of deep thought passes before Louis sighs and drops his head into his hands. The headache that was only looming on the edge of his conscious is now coming on hard and he suddenly feels really, really tired. He sees the same frazzled look on Zayn's face when he glances up. Their eyes meet and some sort of understanding passes between them. 

“We might as well just go and see what they want?” Louis asks softly, not even knowing what he's saying. 

Zayn nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

“When do they want us?”

“Today, if possible. In like three hours?” Zayn smiles sheepishly.

Louis lets out a loud groan and drops his forehead onto the counter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say here but hopefully you all like it! The chapters will be pretty short for now, but they'll start growing in length as the plot develops. And the usual disclaimer: I don't own any of 1D, this is all make-believe, etc.

Neither of them really know what the fuck they're doing there, sitting in the all-too familiar conference room. 

They'd both managed to get showers in before heading out but the thought of breakfast had been too daunting and so they'd set out with uneasy stomachs, Zayn groaning about Louis driving too fast the entire time, although he'd been going considerably slower than the legal limit. They'd arrived ten minutes late to find the other three already there, looking fresh and put-together, as if they'd planned to make Louis and Zayn come off as total wrecks. Planned or not, they'd done quite a good job. Louis glances down and notices that Zayn is wearing his shoes from last night and there's something that looks suspiciously like vomit speckled on them. He can't really judge; he'd realized after stepping out of the car that his jumper was inside out and had to change it around in the middle of the parking lot.

“Thanks for coming, lads,” some too-enthusiastic man says from the head of the table.

Louis cringes at the volume of the man's voice and shuts one eye briefly, hoping the pounding in his head will subside soon. Who knew rum could be so _spiteful_? Three paracetamols later and he might as well have just slammed his head into a door, the good it's doing him. He's still winking one eye closed and then the other when he looks over and catches Niall staring at him from across the table, looking extremely confused and maybe a bit disturbed. Louis glances quickly over to the man speaking, flushing. 

“We've been getting a lot of inquiries into whether or not you five would be interested in doing a performance of sorts together, like a reunion concert?” the man chirps, raising his eyebrows and grinning like he's just offered them the world. 

“Who's doing the inquiring, exactly?” Zayn asks suspiciously but he's being cut off by Liam, who doesn't even spare the other man a glance.

“We're afraid that might not be the best idea,” Liam says carefully, putting on one of his 'sorry but you know I'm right' smiles. 

Everyone nods at this, even Louis, who's internal battle with his brain is distracting him and keeping him from giving a shit.

“Oh, we're well aware,” the management man says, frowning as if personally affected, “but it'd be just one show and I'm sure all of you remember the lyrics to your songs, right?”

Zayn shoots Louis a look that says something along the lines of _'this man is a bloody fucking idiot, is this happening?'_ but Louis just shrugs and picks a point on the table to focus on. He's not sure how long the conversation continues on without him but when he resurfaces, he has a sinking feeling that very important decisions have been made without his input or consent.

“Well...” Harry says, his green eyes flickering from his left to his right, where Liam and Niall sit. 

He ignores Louis and Zayn completely but neither of them are really very surprised; they've been sitting across this huge expanse of table like two rejects the entire time, vomit on their shoes and generally acting totally incompetent. What were they to expect? Plus, Harry's the lingering celebrity in the group; he's essentially gone solo and although he only plays around London, his shows are always sold out and there's big buzz about his new album that's set to be released next year.

“I guess we could -” Liam begins but is hastily cut off by the management man who beams and claps his hands.

“Fantastic, boys! Absolutely fantastic! We'll be in touch very soon to work out details, okay?” 

Louis and Zayn exchange another look with each other, both bewildered as to how this has gone so far without either of them opening their mouths. Louis wants to say that they are no longer a unit, that one no longer speaks for all five, but he keeps his mouth shut because everyone is getting to their feet and shaking hands with the still nameless man, even Zayn. 

The walk down the seemingly endless hallway to the elevator and the subsequently painful ride down in it is almost too much for Louis to take in his fragile state. He presses himself up against the wall of the elevator, letting Zayn be his buffer from the rest of the men in the box. However, he can't help but glance over at Harry, who is standing right in front of the doors like he's prepared to bolt as soon as they open. He can't really blame the guy; everyone is staring down at their feet or, like Zayn, at the flickering numbers above the doors telling them what floor they're on. Even some inane elevator music would've been nice.

Louis notices that Harry has gotten taller, if that's even possible, and leaner. His sense of style is just about the same as when he was eighteen. He's wearing a white button-up under a brown blazer and dark skinny jeans with a pair of scuffed yet ridiculously expensive-looking boots. His shoulders are slightly hunched and his hands are shoved as far down into his pockets as they can go. His hair is still that unbelievably frustrating combination of windswept and deliberate, and he keeps shaking his head like a dog, even though it doesn't do a damn thing.

Louis manages to tear his eyes away once the doors slide open, feeling a distinct heat rising up his neck. _You are an idiot, Louis Tomlinson,_ a voice inside his head snips at him. He trails out after Zayn, eyes trained on the floor. He can barely deal with one elevator ride, and it's more than a little bit shameful. 

There's an awkward moment where everybody tries to get out through the front doors at the same time while also trying to be polite by stepping aside and gesturing vaguely at one another. It causes a mini-traffic jam and Louis watches, bemused, as Liam and Zayn play the door game, which Zayn eventually wins when Liam ducks his head in thanks and goes through the door. 

But of course, not without first saying, “You've got something on your shoes there, mate.” 

Zayn turns around and fixes Louis with a baffled look. “Fucking _hell_ , I hate those three.” 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The break-up of One Direction was, to put it simply, devastating.

Not only for the fans and the people making money off of them, but for the boys in the band. Mostly for the boys. After the news had hit nearly every single large media outlet across the world, Louis had spent a good week in bed at home in Doncaster, alternating between angry sobbing and sad weeping. It was only once Zayn had showed up at his doorstep, red-eyed yet determined, that Louis began living again. They'd both been practically homeless in London so they'd found a flat together and had moved in with the hopes that they'd find some way to make things okay. Which they had, to the best of their ability.

Zayn had landed a job on some fairly well-known telly show as a host, where he talks about the popular music videos for the week and interviews agonizingly haughty musicians whose derision for Zayn drip off their every word. Needless to say, he'd hated the job at the beginning and hates it even more now, a year later. Louis, on the other hand, has done a few roles in movies and telly shows to pass the time because to be quite honest, the thought of working around music is enough to make him nauseous. He knows his money saved up from his One Direction days won't last forever but he'd rather be living on the streets than singing or listening to people sing.

He really shouldn't be bitter, he knows, seeing as he was one of the main reasons for One Direction's demise, but he can't help himself.

“Lou.” 

Eleanor's voice is short and terse but her eyes are soft. She reaches across the tiny round cafe table and lays her hand over Louis', squeezing gently. 

“Sorry,” Louis mutters, closing his eyes briefly before looking at the woman across from him, who is smiling warmly at him now.

“It's alright. This is pretty big, isn't it?”

“Yeah, it is. I don't even know how it happened.”

Eleanor snorts. “Sounds like Harry Styles decided for you all.” 

“Typical Harry Styles,” Louis murmurs.

“Typical Harry Styles,” Eleanor echoes. 

“I feel like this is going to be a total disaster. Someone is going to kill somebody else and then we'll have a murder scandal on our hands and -”

“Lou, no one is going to get murdered,” Eleanor interrupts, rolling her eyes. “You're over-thinking this. It's just one show.”

“At Madison Square Garden. In New York. In America.”

“Okay, so you'll have to fly out to the states together but listen, it'll just be a few days and then you can all go back to feuding properly.” 

“Sounds like more trouble than it's worth,” Louis grumbles. 

“Lou, just look at the bright side. This is a prime opportunity to pull out some of your best pranks.” Eleanor is grinning, her row of perfectly straight teeth on display. 

Louis can't help but laugh, shakes his head. “You're the loveliest, Miss Calder.” 

Eleanor smirks. “I know, Mr. Tomlinson.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I lied about the chapters getting longer but I think the next chapter is when things get kicked into full gear. Also, not sure when I decided to make Eleanor Louis' personal Dr. Phil, but I sort of love her character in this so, hopefully you do too. I have no idea how the process for concert preparation goes, so let's just pretend this is what happens. The usual disclaimer: I don't own any of 1D, this is all make-believe, etc. Enjoy! xx

Their first rehearsal starts off rather well, all things considered.

Harry and Liam take on the lead, but that's to be expected. Louis is quite okay with just hanging out in the back, singing along when he needs to and floating half-assed through his own solos. Apparently, everybody's expectations of him are very low now because he purposefully and flagrantly messes up a few words during his solo in 'Little Things' just for fun and no one seems to even notice. For some reason, this makes him feel incredibly liberated instead of offended. 

He spends most of the rehearsal trying to come up with crude alternatives to his lyrics. 

None of this has quite set in for Louis and it's not too difficult to pretend like he's in a terribly long nightmare. They have a month until they fly out to New York and Louis knows that he should shape up and at least take things somewhat seriously, but the sight of the other four boys reflected back at him in the floor-to-ceiling mirror is messing with his mind. Acting like a complete prat for no reason is the only way he can deal, it seems. He even finds himself snapping at Zayn a few times, who just raises his eyes to the ceiling and purses his lips like a fed-up mother at her unruly child. 

During break, Louis escapes outside and leans against the nearest wall, pulling in deep and steady breaths. He realizes that he's been holding his breath basically the entire time he's been cooped up in that room with the others. He likes to think that he's gotten over it, that the events of a year ago have washed right on over him and he is the bigger man, but he'd be lying if he said any of that. If he'd gotten over things, he would have no problem approaching Liam or Niall, and especially Harry, with a metaphorical olive branch outstretched. 

But he mostly just wants to sucker-punch all three of them in the balls, and that tells him all he needs to know about how not over it he is.

He's still standing there, staring at nothing, when the side door opens a little ways down and Niall comes out. Louis pretends not to notice him, even though he'd have to be extremely distracted to not have heard the door creak open. He feels his heart rate jump a bit and the mortification set in; things are about to get awkward and he's not sure if he should just run back inside or keep standing there. Neither option seems desirable. He decides on the latter and goes to pull his phone out of his pocket, only to realize that he's wearing his sweats and his phone is in the pocket of his jeans back in the practice room. 

Grimacing, Louis looks back up and promptly meets Niall's blue gaze. 

“Hey.” 

Niall is standing several yards away but Louis winces like he's just been yelled at.

“Hey.” 

The other man quirks an eyebrow but says nothing in response to Louis' less than creative response. He just turns away and begins fiddling with his own phone, which Louis gazes at with a sharp envy. What had he come out here for again? Had there been a purpose? Or had this been another one of his stupid, split second decisions? Wh hadn't he thought to grab his _phone_? They stand there for a good five minutes in silence, Louis glancing around like the alley they're standing in is extremely interesting and Niall scrolling through his cell. 

It's only when Zayn comes flying out through the door that they both break out of their respective bubbles.

“This is ridiculous,” Zayn spits out angrily, pointedly ignoring Niall as he storms over to where Louis is standing. 

“What?” Louis asks, eyes wide. It's not like Zayn to get worked up like this.

“Why the hell did we agree to this? I can't stand another fucking minute around those twats!” 

Louis notices the way Niall's posture stiffens at Zayn's words. He wants to tell Zayn to keep his voice down but there's no stopping this train wreck from happening. So he just resigns himself to whatever blow out is about to occur. It was bound to happen, anyway.

“They think they're better than us, and why the hell is that? They're just as responsible for -” 

Before Louis can digest what's happening, Niall is stomping up to them, eyes blazing with a rage that Louis hasn't seen in some time. Or has he ever seen that sort of anger in Niall? He can't really remember. Louis glances between Niall and Zayn, takes in the hostility apparent in their body language. He's not sure if the jumpy feeling in his chest is from fear or some twisted form of excitement but it doesn't matter because Zayn is already pushing Niall back with one hand against his chest and they're arguing. 

“Hey, now,” Louis protests weakly, stepping back. “Let's just stay civil, yeah?”

“You're the two showing up at the management meeting looking like you haven't had a wash in weeks!” Niall is snarling, right in Zayn's face. 

“ _Excuse you_?” Zayn replies, taking on some of Louis' sassiness, “I'll have you know that we both showered before showing up! And the fuck does that even matter, anyway?”

“Well, could either of you look any more _pathetic_?”

Niall's last statement is the final straw and Zayn is swinging. Lucky for them all, the other two men step out into the alley right in time to witness the punch and suddenly the altercation has gone from involving three people to all five. Or four, really, since Louis backs away to a safe distance and just watches as Liam helps Niall up and Harry shoves Zayn back with both hands. 

“You _cunt_!” Harry yells, green eyes flashing at Zayn before focusing in on Louis, who is standing off to the side with a pitiful look on his face.

“Don't get me involved,” Louis warns, throwing up his hands, but Harry is already pointing an accusatory finger his way. 

“You too, you fucking tosser,” Harry says loudly, and Louis wonders vacantly when the other man's language deteriorated so drastically. 

“Hey, lay off,” Zayn protests, pushing against Harry's shoulder with one hand. “You're the one who fucked this all up, don't you get on his case.” 

Zayn's words successfully stop everybody. Liam is staring at Zayn with a flabbergasted look and Niall is biting his lip anxiously, hand pressed against his right eye, which is surely swelling shut. Harry's eyes are rooted on Louis and it's like someone's cast a spell on him, he's so motionless. He might not even be breathing, Louis thinks, as his eyes search the other man's face. Everybody just looks stunned, and Louis wants to be anywhere else really badly. So he acts.

Without another word, Louis starts walking and brushes past the other four, not even bothering to go back inside to grab his things. He just hits the sidewalk and then starts running. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He ends up walking home because he has no money for a cab and by the time he stops wandering aimlessly through London it's pretty late and Zayn's probably already driven his car home for him. 

Sure enough, his car is parked out in front of the flat and the first thing he sees once he steps through the door is Zayn, who's sitting in the entrance on the floor with his back against the wall. He looks exhausted but ekes out a smile when he sees Louis. Louis' phone is lying on his lap and he passes it up to its owner, who takes it gratefully. 

“Sorry,” is all Louis says before sinking down to sit next to Zayn. 

“It's okay.” 

“I hope they didn't all gang up on you once I ran away,” Louis jokes, but his voice is strained. What if they had?

Zayn shrugs. “Nah, thought Harry was going to do something stupid but Liam dragged him and Niall back inside, so.” 

The two fall silent. Louis unlocks his phone to see a missed call from his mum, one from Lottie, two from Zayn, and a text from Eleanor. He wants to whine to Zayn about how nobody calls or texts him anymore unless they're his family, Eleanor or Zayn himself, but he keeps his mouth shut because now is not the time. There are bigger things to worry about than his unpopularity.

“What are we doing?” Louis asks after a beat of silence, soft and sad. 

“I don't know. We were doing okay, weren't we?” Zayn sounds confused, like he has _just_ realized what they've gotten themselves into. 

“We were doing perfect. You'd never punched anyone and I'd almost forgot that One Direction ever existed.”

Zayn snorts at this, but nods. “This is really going to mess up our progress, eh?”

“I just can't stand the way Niall and Liam look at us. Or _don't_ look at us, really. Neither of us deserve it. You don't deserve it.” Louis sighs, shakes his head.

Zayn's hand shoots out and grabs one of Louis', squeezes it reassuringly. “They made that choice, that was their decision. You didn't do anything wrong.”

As much as Louis loves Zayn for trying to comfort him, it's obviously a part of his best mate duties. Louis is not so delusional that he doesn't see how wrong Zayn is in saying that he's blameless.

“Yes, I did. Harry and I did. We dragged the three of you into this mess. We made you choose sides.” 

“Nobody _made_ us choose sides but yeah, it was impossible not to,” Zayn says as he gets to his feet, pulling Louis up with him.

“Do you think you made the right decision, then?” Louis asks weakly, trying to be funny but actually quite scared to hear the answer.

“Of course,” Zayn replies without hesitance.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next month flies by without incident, although they still have to show up to rehearsals regularly and at least try to act like a unified group. 

Louis stops screwing up deliberately because sometimes Harry shoots him the coldest, most malevolent glares and he can barely think after he catches sight of them, let alone come up with clever lyrics to substitute the right ones. Things are tense, to say the least, but nobody addresses it. Nobody wants to. Things are back to how they were at the end of One Direction's brief life, right before things fell apart completely and spectacularly. Louis leaves every single rehearsal feeling like a great weight has been sitting on his chest the entire time, halting his breaths. 

He's almost relieved when the day they fly out to the states comes around. It means they're closer to the end of this ordeal and closer to when they can all go back to pretending like the others don't exist. Louis yearns for his normal life, for the platonic partnership he has with Zayn that makes him feel safe and secure, for his lack of a steady schedule, for his fulfilling relationship with the telly. He's flattered that his Twitter feed blows up with excitement over the news that One Direction is reuniting for one more show and that people come up to him on the streets randomly, asking if they'd all be willing to play a show in the U.K., but it takes a good amount of strength to act like he's just as thrilled.

The day they're set to leave, Zayn comes into his room and rouses him from sleep at six in the morning, the first one awake for once. He looks nervous and stands out on the balcony for a good ten minutes smoking, although he'd promised to stop the habit a couple of weeks ago (it's an off again, on again promise). Louis makes tea and some toast. Neither of them eat the toast, just leave it to cool on the counter as they sip rapidly at their tea and make sure the lights are off and they haven't forgotten anything before stepping out through the door. Louis asks Zayn if he's unplugged his hair appliances, because wouldn't it be tragic if they came home to find their flat burned down thanks to a straightener, but Zayn just gives him a withering look and says he's actually packed all of that stuff with him. After that, Louis tries to keep the nervous joking to a minimum.

They're meeting the others at Heathrow because apparently whoever's in charge of transportation thought better than to put them all in the same car to the airport. Louis wants to award that person a medal. The ride is quiet and the two men just stare out their respective windows, watching the city flash past them. The two separate cars pull up to the airport at roughly the same time and Louis can't help but watch as Harry hoists himself out of the vehicle, tugging his jeans into place as he glances around. He waves at a group of paps snapping photos of them, then turns around. Their eyes meet and Louis looks away quickly, cheeks heating up. 

Harry already looks tired and worn, like he hasn't slept very well lately. But he still looks so good that it makes Louis' heart ache. It reminds him of the times when they'd all bundle into the car early in the morning before a flight, Harry's green eyes drooping with fatigue but still glimmering with eagerness for whatever adventure they were about to embark on. Those were always the times they'd huddle together like a litter of puppies in the back of the car, squishing each other and getting real close. A stab of razor-sharp sorrow shoots through Louis' chest and it takes all he has to keep himself from backing out right then and there. 

They head demurely through the airport towards their gate, ignoring the cheers and excited chattering of people who catch sight of them and their entourage. Anybody can see that they are no longer the young kids they used to be, back when they smiled as they dragged their luggage along behind them, dressed sloppily in sweats and hoodies. It's surprising, what a year can do. But it doesn't matter because they - the fans, the people who don't know them - all choose not to see it. They choose not to see the way the five of them are all dressed impeccably despite the fact that they’re about to sit on a plane for hours, and the way none of them chat amongst each other the way they used to. They're all staring straight ahead, blanked out expressions pasted onto their drained faces. 

The wait at the gate is just as subdued and although Louis makes sassy comments here and there to Zayn, it's not really a conversation and it sounds forced when Zayn laughs back. At some point he just curls up by himself in a hard, plastic chair by the window and watches planes land and take off. He wants this to be over. Rehearsals were one thing, he got to escape home afterwards, but this is too familiar, this traveling as a group thing. It brings back too many memories and he knows that the day after tomorrow, they will be singing on stage together like old times. He can think of a million other things he'd rather do. He sends Eleanor a quick text, asks her again what the hell he's doing because that's the question he keeps asking himself and never seems to find an answer for. 

Her answer comes in quickly and leaves Louis feeling no less conflicted.

_You're making a lot of people happy. Stay strong, love. xx_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter is a bit of a doozy as far as plot advancement goes. There's just a lot of Larry angst/conflict shoved into one chapter (also, minor scene of violence, nothing huge but it's always nice to warn people). It's sort of my favorite/least favorite one I've written so far, I guess? Not really sure but here it is! The usual disclaimer: I don't own any of 1D, this is all make-believe, etc.

New York City is brighter and louder than Louis remembers it being.

He presses his temple against the cool glass of the van, shuts his eyes and thanks god that there's no noise he needs to drown out because the others are deathly silent. They pull up to their hotel at a ridiculously late hour and they all shuffle into the lobby zombie-like. Louis leans against Zayn, seeking out the support he knows he'll be given. Zayn wraps an arm around his shoulders and they rest against each other as their manager for the trip checks them in and gets their keys. The hotel is blissfully quiet because of the lateness and they make it up to their rooms without interruption. Apparently whoever booked the rooms also know about the current dynamic between the men because they've reserved two rooms; one with two doubles and one with two queens. Zayn and Louis take the first, the other three take the second.

Louis collapses onto the first bed he reaches as Zayn heaves his suitcase onto the other. Neither of them speak as Louis stares out the window at the New York skyline and Zayn rummages through his luggage. Nothing has to be said. They're both exhausted and nervous and unhappy and wishing they were anywhere else. No matter how much they talk it out, they won't feel any different. The feeling lingers deep and Louis wishes he could just reach down inside and yank it out with his own two hands. Feeling nothing at all would be better than this stifling pressure. 

A few minutes later, Zayn disappears into the bathroom and gets into the shower. Louis rolls onto his ass and stares at his own reflection in the desk mirror before getting to his feet and heading out the door. He feels like he's in a dream, moving but not feeling completely attached to his own body. He's bone tired but he feels claustrophobic in the room. 

The hotel hallway is carpeted in thick, lush scarlet and he pads down it, barefoot. He has no destination but it doesn't matter because he doesn't need to be anywhere any time soon. He gets into the elevator and rides it up to the top, then down to the bottom, where he gets off. He ignores the curious looks the receptionists shoot his way. He takes a seat on one of the plush armchairs scattered in pairs around the lobby and sighs as he sinks into it, letting his eyes flutter shut. It's probably nearing midnight if it hasn't already passed, and he really should be getting to bed if he wants to be anywhere near useful the next day but he can’t bring himself to get up. It's only when he feels a presence looming over him that his eyes open. 

Harry is standing over him, arms crossed and eyes strangely blank. The green of his irises looks too dark and Louis sits up straight, suddenly nervous at what's to come. He has no idea how Harry managed to find him and he gets a strange prickling suspicion that some sort of connection still exists between them, drawing them together. Or that Harry somehow had a GPS installed into him like people do with their dogs.

“Sleeping in the lobby, then?” Harry's voice is low and rough, no hint of malice nor pleasantry in it. 

“I, uh…” Louis rubs his neck, blinks at the floor. 

He's really too tired for this right now but this is the first time in what feels like forever since he's faced Harry one-on-one without people crowding around them and for some reason, he feels a bit like torturing himself. He stays where he's seated and looks up at Harry again. That same empty look is directed down at him and a shiver runs up his spine.

“You what, Louis? Go on, say it.” A hint of hostility comes through this time.

Louis frowns, tilts his head as it dawns on him. “Are you drunk?”

He knows he's struck a nerve when Harry lurches toward him abruptly, his hands gripping the arms of Louis' chair as he leans in close. Their faces are just inches apart and Louis can smell the scent of liquor on Harry's breath. He must've raided the mini-bar something quick; they haven't been here long. Louis winces and looks away but Harry's tilting his chin up roughly with two fingers. He's convinced that the pupils of Harry's eyes have swallowed up the green and it scares him a bit. 

“Let me tell you something,” Harry murmurs, “I don't want to be here and I know you don't either, so let's just get that out there, yeah?”

Louis swallows, blue eyes locked on the darker ones. He nods hesitantly but Harry's fingers curl around his jaw and jerk his head in place again. 

“Harry,” he says softly, hoping that something he says will shake the other man out of this trance-like state. “Let me go.”

“Shut up for a second.” Harry's fingers only tighten their grip. “We're going to perform on Friday and then we're going to fly home and then we're going to go back to pretending like we don't know each other. Sound good?”

Louis knows they shouldn't hurt, Harry's words, but they do and they hurt really, really badly. He doesn't think about why they do, doesn't want to go there. He pulls away from Harry's fingers and gets to his feet, making Harry stumble back unsteadily. His breath is coming fast and hard for some reason, and the initial hurt is giving way to anger. Before he can stop himself, he's up in Harry's space, turning the tables. He wets his lips before speaking because he's not really sure what he's doing or what he's about to say before he says it. It's one of those times when he loses his sense of self, and he does or says something he doesn't necessarily mean to.

“My turn, yeah?” He begins. “How about you stay out of my fucking way, not just during this trip but forever? I don't want you to even so much as look at me and if you do, I swear to god I will air out every fucked up thing you've ever done, do you hear me? Wouldn't want your precious fans to turn on you, would you? Wouldn't want them to know who the real Harry Styles is.” 

Louis is breathing raggedly but Harry is doing that thing again where he's as still and frozen as a statue. It just pisses Louis off further so he backs away and then turns on his heel, heading towards the elevator. He forces himself not to turn back around and look at Harry because he's stronger than that. 

He is.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, the five men are ushered onto the set of one of those early morning talk shows, where they're expected to hype the next night's concert. 

Niall, Liam and Zayn really do their part quite flawlessly, acting amiable and united without actually interacting with each other. Or more accurately, Liam and Niall act like the best friends they are while Zayn smiles infallibly and sits like an outcast next to them. Regardless, the show's hosts eat them up, focus on them and their bright fake smiles because Louis and Harry are failing miserably at everything. They've been seated on stools next to each other, as if the show's producers thought it would be possible to revive the much loved 'Larry Stylinson' relationship just by putting them in close proximity. But Louis and Harry effectively kill any sort of hope of them rekindling their bromance as soon as the cameras start rolling; they are practically emanating animosity towards each other and everybody else in the room.

Sometimes, when the interviewer is focused on Niall or Liam, Zayn shoots Louis a nervous look from where he sits on the couch in front of him and Harry. He can tell something is more off than usual, that something's shifted. The look relays a message that Louis just doesn't want to receive so he chooses to ignore Zayn until the other man stops looking at him all together. His nerves are frazzled and he's on edge. He doesn't need Zayn's shit right now. Plus, it's taking all of his willpower not to knock Harry off his stool and start a brawl right there, in front of the American public; he does not need his best friend giving him those knowing looks. He doesn't think hurling profanities at Zayn on national television would be much appreciated, either.

Much to their bodyguards' annoyance, Louis and Zayn slip away from the rest of the group after the interview (which goes as well as expected, mostly because no questions are asked about the elephant in the room a.k.a. their very public feud). They emerge out onto the busy New York City streets instead of heading straight to the car waiting to take them back to the hotel. They're found within seconds, of course, but keep heading off down the crowded sidewalk, disregarding the men trailing after them. They're both starving, having avoided breakfast and the inevitable awkward tension that would come with it, and so they find the nearest restaurant and go inside. Zayn doesn't even wait to choose what he's going to eat before flinging himself headfirst into the interrogation process.

“Did something happen last night?”

Louis hates how well Zayn can read him. It almost feels like a violation on occasion.

“What makes you think that?” Louis answers, raising his eyebrows over his menu. 

“I didn't think you and Harry could hate each other any more but that interview … wow. The air was thick, mate. I think the crowd outside even felt it.” 

Louis rolls his eyes, even though he really can't dispute Zayn's claims. It _had_ been rather chilly on set.

“That's just us, I guess,” Louis says once the waiter has come by to take their order. “Larry Stylinson and all. Isn't it cute?” 

Zayn levels a look at him. “Come on, Lou. You came back to the room last night all shaken up. Did something happen?”

He knows he'll end up telling Zayn, there's no point in hiding what had happened the night before. He just wants to draw it out a bit because if he's honest with himself, he's still a bit disturbed by the whole chain of events. Harry getting drunk, finding him, saying those things. He's not surprised by his own reaction - self-control has never been his strongest suit – but the slightly desperate edge in Harry's voice and the way he'd looked emptied out lingers on Louis' mind even now, hours afterwards. To be honest, he's not sure if he's really still angry or just conflicted. He hadn't be prepared, how could he have been, and now he's not sure if he's shocked or outraged or hurt or ... _something_. He feels something. 

Louis ends up spilling everything to Zayn soon enough, leaving the other man caught somewhere in between stunned and furious.

“He's really overstepped himself this time,” Zayn says, seething over his sandwich. “What a tosser.”

Louis just keeps eating, gives a noncommittal grunt.

He's not sure when it set in, this ability of his to act like the shit Harry pulls means nothing to him, affects him less than it does. It must have been after the memorable blow-up, because since then, he's done a beautiful job of shrugging off the rumors, the tabloid gossip, the speculation. He's done an admirable job of flipping past sensational stories of Harry and whatever debauchery he's gotten up to that week, as if he's a stranger Louis couldn't care less about. If anyone were to look at him when the topic of Harry comes up in casual conversation, they'd think he'd chugged right along like a trooper. 

Mostly, he just does a beautiful job at smothering all of his feelings and as long as it works, he'll keep doing it.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that night, things get exponentially more awkward when Louis runs into Harry on his way down to the front desk.

The elevator doors open and Louis is faced with the sight of Harry in a full-on snog with some spindly brunette who's actually got one leg hitched up around Harry's waist. Louis almost laughs out loud because, well, he's great at drowning out his true emotions at the exact moment when they hit him the hardest. Instead, he throws an arm out and stops the doors from closing because Harry and his lady of the evening don't seem to even notice that they've reached their floor. They're too busy making loud suction noises that make Louis' skin prickle with repulsion. He wonders where exactly Harry plans on taking the girl; he doubts Liam and Niall will welcome her into their shared room with open arms.

It's only when Louis clears his throat loudly that they pull apart, lips wet and eyes wide. 

“Sorry, if you don't mind,” Louis says, smiling pleasantly at both of them, “I kind of want to go down. And apparently, so does somebody else.”

The last comment is totally unplanned for and Louis has to physically restrain himself from turning around and walking back to his room because _holy fuck_ , did he really just say that? Maybe it wasn't clever enough to make any sense. Or at least he hopes so, because he feels like accusing a complete stranger of wanting to give a blowjob is a bit rude, even for him. He inwardly curses his inability to control his mouth. Harry's eyes narrow and even though Louis is three hundred percent sure he's drunk, he clearly catches the innuendo. The girl just clings to Harry tighter and lets out a trilling laugh that grates on Louis' nerves. He briefly wonders where Harry managed to pick up this gem of a human being. She's dressed like one of those dancers that get suspended in cages at clubs.

“Louis Tomlinson.” She purrs his name like she's just stumbled across the eighth wonder of the world, and her eyes practically glow at him. 

Louis smiles widely at the woman because he's used to doing that when people fawn over his fame; it's been engrained into his celebrity psyche. What he does next is definitely not, but he tells himself fuck it because he can (he tries to get into that _'you are Louis Tomlinson, you are the man, no one can stop you'_ sort of mindset but it sounds stupid so he just tries to think of nothing). He steps into the elevator, his foot holding the door open and leans towards the girl, who meets him halfway like they've choreographed this. Their lips press together and even though Louis can taste the sweet stickiness of alcohol on her lips, he doesn't pull away. Instead, he just deepens the kiss and when she slips her tongue into his mouth and grabs onto his ears he just lets her because _fuck. it._

He hadn't meant for the kiss to go on any longer than a couple of seconds but before he knows it, he's actually snogging this girl quite furiously and he wonders how long it's been since he's had a proper snog with someone. Too long, apparently, because what had started off as an act of revenge is turning into something bordering on enjoyment and – Louis pulls away abruptly, shakes himself out of the girl's grip before stepping out of the elevator and letting the doors close on all three shocked faces. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He's pretty much expecting the knock at his door. Yet when it comes a couple of hours after the elevator incident, he nearly jumps out of his skin.

He's had a few of the mini bottles of whisky the hotel stocks in the minibar and he's feeling pretty good and liquored up, which is shameful seeing as it's one o'clock in the morning and he's sitting on the floor of his hotel room in the dark. He imagines someone opening the door to find him huddled up against the bed, eyes glowing in the light like some feral creature caught by a flashlight.

Zayn is asleep in his bed, facing the wall and snoring quite thunderously. If things go the way Louis predicts they will, there's a good chance Zayn will be woken up at some point in the near future. He pads over to the door and peeks through the peephole before opening the door, already resigned to his fate. He's actually rather looking forward to it because he wants to see how pissed Harry is about Louis snogging his girl and whatnot. Rum might make him dance like a fool, but whisky makes him want to taste danger.

What Louis does not expect is for Harry to grab him by the shoulders as soon as the door is open and pin him against the corridor wall across the hall. He stumbles clumsily as he tries to find a solid footing but the alcohol making its rounds around his body doesn't help him any and he just lets Harry manhandle him. He does let out a squeak of surprise and pain as his back collides with the solid surface, but he's unable to make another noise as a pair of lips crash onto his. 

He thinks hazily that he should probably put up a fight but instead he just melts into the kiss (or whatever it is, it's a bit too rough to be called a kiss, really). It's quite a bit better than the kiss with the nameless girl in the elevator, at any rate. Sure, there's a lot of lip biting and saliva, but it's been so, so long since he's felt this particular pair of lips that Louis can't bring himself to pull away quite yet. Just a bit longer and -

He's all boneless and swoony like the woman off of a smutty romance novel cover by the time Harry ends the brutal, face-mashing kiss and so is unable to defend himself when Harry pulls back and punches him solidly in the side of the face. There's no warning, no courtesy of a heads-up from Harry. Something along the lines of 'I'm about to slug you in the face, okay?' would've sufficed, really. But it comes out of the blue.

Louis slides down the wall without a word, not sure if he should be holding his throbbing cheekbone or the back of his head, which had collided quite forcefully with the wall behind him. He can at least thank the whisky for numbing some of the pain. He doesn't react as Harry crouches down in front of him and grabs onto his knees (if Louis looked up, he'd see Harry wobble unsteadily), and doesn't react as Harry starts talking.

“Don't you ever fucking do that again, you idiot.” 

Louis just keeps staring into his lap with eyelids hooded, hand clenched over one half of his face as Harry pushes himself up to his feet, using the wall as a support. He's not stunned, not angry, not hurt. He doesn't feel any physical pain at this point, although it's sure to set in by the time he wakes up in the morning. He just feels numb and detached. He doesn't even spare another glance at Harry, who stares down at him for a while longer before backing away and turning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter ends at an awkward place, but it should transition smoothly enough. (:


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone had a lovely Christmas! (: I'm sure this story is just getting more and more confusing, but things will start falling into place sooner or later. Keeping up the suspense, you know? Also, I really didn't organize this all that well so it's sort of just a go-with-the-flow process. I have a good chunk of the chapters already written but I'm just sort of posting them little by little. The usual disclaimer still applies, obviously, and again- enjoy!

It's Liam who ends up being the hero of the night.

He comes rushing out into the hallway a few minutes after Harry disappears into their room, eyes sweeping wildly around the corridor before spotting Louis. He's hunched over against the wall, eyes closed now but hand still cradling his own face. He remains pliant as a frenzied Liam grabs him under the armpits and hauls him to his feet. He doesn't say a word as Liam pulls his dead weight across the hall and through the door of his room, which is still flung open. When Liam sees that Zayn is still curled up asleep, he tries to be as quiet as possible as he maneuvers Louis into bed. 

Liam is pulling the covers up over Louis when the crying begins. At first, it's just sniffling and then it snowballs into body-shaking sobs that give way to a low, mournful keening. Louis is so out of it that he grabs at Liam's hands, pulling the man towards him. Liam goes willingly, taking a seat on the side of the bed and reaching out to soothe Louis, who folds his compact body into the fetal position around Liam. Had Louis been mentally present, he would've been thoroughly embarrassed by the look of woe in Liam's eyes as he traces a tentative finger along the curve of Louis' already swollen cheekbone. Instead, he just keeps sobbing shamelessly, his cries undulating in volume like he's attempting to yodel. 

“I – I don't know why,” he manages to chokes out. 

Liam furrows his brow in confusion, shakes his head but stops once he reminds himself that Louis is too drunk and upset to understand body language. When Harry came storming into their room, still intoxicated and with that far-off look in his eyes, Liam had immediately known something had happened. It'd taken only a few minutes to get the truth out of Harry (if him saying 'I just punched Louis out in the hallway, okay? Now fuck off' is really getting anything). Liam hadn't been able to stop himself from going out to inspect the damage and then subsequently helping Louis. 

He surely hadn't been expecting any of _this_ in the process. 

“Lou,” he chokes out, the nickname so strange and foreign on his tongue now, “it's okay, everything is fine. Just sleep it off, okay?”

Louis nods but keeps trembling, tears slipping passed his tightly shut eyelids. He grabs a fistful of Liam's shirt and holds on tightly like a small child. Liam lets out a strangled little noise and reaches out to run a hand through Louis' messy fringe. Things hadn't meant to go this far. When he'd chosen Harry's side, he hadn't meant to choose to see one of his other best mates get hurt. So in the only way he knows how in that moment, Liam tries to express his regret by sitting quietly next to Louis until he falls asleep, whispering soft words of comfort when the other man whimpers like a wounded animal. 

When he's sure Louis is fully asleep, Liam pulls out of his loose grasp and gets to his feet. He looks down at the other man for a few more seconds before turning around, only to be met by the very awake, very pointed gaze of Zayn.

“Oh,” Liam says, eyes widening. “I … I'm sorry. I woke you up.”

Zayn's sitting on the edge of the bed in just his boxer briefs, unabashed, his dark eyes zeroing in on Liam. He looks tired and beat down but when he speaks, there's the same steady determination that Liam remembers from the time they first met, way back when.

“This isn't okay,” Zayn says darkly. “This can't keep happening.”

Liam knows that he's talking specifically about the violence that's been breaking out lately between the five of them but he feels like he means it on a deeper level as well. There is so much to be said about how things are between them now and how things have gone to utter shit. But there is such a daunting abyss to cross before they could ever begin to broach that subject.

“I agree,” Liam says, but Zayn is shaking his head as soon as the words leave his mouth.

“No. You don't get it,” Zayn says. “Everybody's on Harry's side. You, Niall, most of the fans. Fuck, even the media. Louis, he's the villain in this whole thing.”

The way Liam's face crumples further into distress tells Zayn that he knows exactly what's being insinuated. He wishes he could get some sort of satisfaction from it but he can't because his best friend had to cry himself to sleep tonight, and now he's talking to one of his former best mates like they barely know each other at all when in fact, they probably know each other too well.

“That – this isn't my fault, Zayn,” Liam stammers, completely unprepared for this conversation, “I never _wanted_ this to happen.”

“But you let it. You just watched everybody dump all the blame on Louis. You didn't even stick around long enough for him to explain.” 

Zayn's eyes are so cold that Liam actually shivers, crossing his arms in an attempt to defend himself against something he can't even see. He has no idea what to say because this is far too complicated to get into at this ungodly hour and the way Zayn's looking at him makes him feel like the biggest pile of shit to have ever landed on Earth. 

“I don't know what to say.”

“You never have, have you?” Zayn snaps, getting to his feet. “You should go now. Long day tomorrow and everything.” 

Liam nods numbly, and backs away from Zayn's unamused smirk and the glacial look in his eyes. He fears briefly that Zayn's going to hit him, too, but he has to remind himself that Zayn has never been a physical person and that he's scared for no reason. The punch he threw at Niall a month ago was an anomaly, totally out of character. They may not get along and Zayn may very well hate him, but he has nothing to be afraid of, Liam tells himself repeatedly. He turns and heads out the door, only wincing a bit as he hears Zayn shut and lock the door behind him with more force than necessary.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Louis wakes up thirty minutes before they have to leave for sound check, thanks to Zayn, who shakes him gently awake and offers him a muffin wrapped in a napkin.

There's a bruise spanning his cheek, and the skin under his eye is also swollen but he just looks away from his reflection in the bathroom mirror and continues brushing his teeth. Make-up will surely have a joyous time trying to cover it up so no questions are asked about what happened to him. But there's nothing he can do about it and the less he thinks about how he got it, the better. That seems to be the motto for the day – keep breathing, keep moving, and stop thinking. 

Not that there's much to think about; he can barely remember what had happened last night, just recalls the press of Harry's lips and the weight of the punch . He just can't even begin to fathom how he's going to make it through an entire concert when just pulling on a pair of pants leaves him breathless and exhausted. He has to take a seat on the end of his bed and just let his heart wind down from its racing. It's only when Zayn comes back into the room, smiling crookedly, that he gets up and goes about his day.

The silence in the van this time around is not tense or filled with unspoken words; it seems like everyone is drained, just empty little husks of themselves that for the moment, feel no need to express any emotion. Harry sits next to Niall in the row in front of Louis, Zayn and Liam, tapping away at his phone. He'd already been in the car when Louis and Zayn had showed up, and hadn't even looked up at their arrival. It was around then that the realization really sunk in; Harry Styles genuinely hates Louis Tomlinson, and not even Louis could ever say that he had seen it coming. He thinks it should hurt more than it does, but really, he knew it all along deep down, from that moment a year ago when Harry had said to him in that low, raspy voice: _'I don't ever want to see you again.'_

Louis leans his head against the window and allows his eyelids to fall shut, letting the coolness ease the throbbing in his cheekbone. He thinks he must've fallen asleep and started dreaming because he hears Zayn and Liam's soft voices intermingling together in conversation. But even after his eyelids flutter open he hears them speaking to one another, low and hushed like they're having a clandestine meeting. He glances over at them without moving too much and sees Zayn turned slightly towards Liam, head bowed so that Liam can talk quietly into his ear. They're still far enough apart that it's obvious that they're not exactly friends, but they're talking and that's something. 

Louis wonders if he should be worried, if he should feel a kick of jealousy but the sound of those two voices weaving in and out of one another is so familiar that he feels himself being lulled back to sleep.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sound check goes over decently (Louis just goes through the steps like a robot, singing when he needs to and smiling the entire time like an idiot) and before they know it, they are eating a quick dinner before the concert.

Madison Square Garden is absolutely mobbed hours before they're even set to start. They arrive an hour early and stand around backstage as the crew does some last minute tweaking and testing. Louis feels nervousness set into his gut like a cement weight as he watches people with headsets race around in a frenzy. The emotion hits him like nothing has changed in a year, like he's the same Louis Tomlinson as the one who was in One Direction. The same question of whether he'll be able to pull this off without looking like a fraud races through his mind, but stronger this time. The other four look a bit on edge as well, standing apart from one another and doing whatever works to calm their individual anxiousness. Louis' eyes flicker over to Harry, who's standing a little ways away with his back turned to them. 

Louis starts thinking about all the times they'd stood backstage and in green rooms together, all wrapped up in the nervous energy of a looming performance. He'd always gravitate towards Harry, demanding without words to be hugged and petted and loved on. Harry had always acquiesced without protest, wrapping his gangly arms around Louis' smaller frame and belting out nonsensical songs as he rocked Louis in the circle of his hug. After things started changing, they'd sneak away by themselves, giving each other sly looks and roguish smiles. They'd always manage to find a deserted corridor or an unused room, and Louis' would silently ask for the same things he'd always asked for, but with a look that indicated he wanted more. And he'd always get it.

He swears he can still feel Harry's lips on his from the night before and then that just tricks him into thinking he can remember every single kiss Harry has ever pressed against his skin, but then they're being ushered on stage and he's lost in the roar of the crowd.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Louis doesn't even make it back to the hotel after the concert.

He just asks everyone within earshot that he be left alone so he can take a cab to the nearest bar. That doesn't go over well and so he finds himself being driven there by a bodyguard who goes into the thumping New York club with him. The other boys go straight back to the hotel and Louis can't really say that he feels any lonelier because is that even possible? It isn't that he wants to get drunk. No, he just wants to be surrounded by people who may or may not recognize him and who lead lives that are nothing like his. He wants to hear stories about weddings that he never went to and children who he'll never see and about people's most embarrassing moments. He wants to forget his own life in the lives of others'.

Louis finds himself sipping a beer at the bar, sandwiched in between a couple from San Francisco. They're loose and friendly, recognizing him but only from the billboards plastered around the city advertising their concert. When Louis asks them a hundred questions they answer easily and willingly, like it isn't at all odd that they're being grilled by some washed-up British pop star. Because that's what he is, washed-up. Not even the concert he'd just been a part of resurrected the person he'd been before, when he'd been on top of the world. He still feels like Louis Tomlinson, ex-celeb with _no_ direction. 

The couple eventually leave for the night, both giving Louis good-bye hugs that he's surprised to find rather comforting, and then he's left alone. He nurses his second beer and keeps his eyes down on the counter, simultaneously trying to sort through his thoughts and ignore them. He sees it as a bit of housecleaning; he gets rid of the thoughts that are just too invasive and difficult, while he files away the thoughts that maybe some day he'll have the strength to go over. By the end his mind is blank and there's just a light emptiness in his head. Which is why he jumps in surprise when a hand appears on his shoulder.

“Sorry, mate. Didn't mean to scare you.” 

Niall gives him a sheepish smile as he slides onto the bar stool next to him. Louis just blinks at him like he doesn't even recognize the man before him. His once platinum blonde hair has grown out to its natural shade and he's gotten thinner but he still has the same sparkling blue gaze. He's not looking at Louis with the same deeply affectionate fondness from what feels like forever ago, but he relaxes under the gaze nonetheless. He considers asking Niall how he got into the bar because is he even legal in the states yet, he can't remember, but he decides that their fame must still be good for something.

“'S okay,” Louis replies, shrugging. 

Niall orders a beer for himself and rests his elbows on the counter, letting out a soft sigh. 

“I'd forgotten how it feels,” he murmurs, biting down on his lip.

Louis knows what Niall is referring to but he really wishes he didn't because he came here to forget about One Direction and anything faintly associated with it. But he's sick of putting up walls and he's tired of disliking people when sometimes he doesn't even remember why he should. That could very well be the alcohol talking, though.

“Me too.”

“It wasn't the same as it was before, when we were together.” Niall takes in a deep breath. “Today, it felt like we were just doing it to make everybody else happy.”

“Isn't that why we agreed to it?” Louis asks, sharper than he meant for it to be. “I certainly did not say yes out of consideration for my personal happiness.”

Niall nods. “Fair enough.” 

They lapse into a silence that almost sends Louis running and when, _when_ had he become so sad? He wants to blame the people who talked them into doing this pointless concert and throwing them all together again, but he suspects that this feeling of utter unhappiness has always been there beneath the surface, hidden just enough. 

“Harry, he, uh … he feels bad, you know?” Niall says it like he's divulging a secret, which Louis supposes he is in a way. 

Harry would hate it if he knew they were talking about him behind his back, despite the fact that most people do. Louis suspects that the majority of conversations about Harry Styles never actually involves talking with the man himself; he is the best sort of person to gossip over and not even his best mates can escape that, apparently. 

“Oh, yeah? Seemed quite sorry when he was punching my head into a wall last night.”

“That's … he doesn't know how to act around you, Louis. He's a right mess when it comes to you.” 

Louis wants to ask _'what's new?'_ , but it'd be hypocritical because he can't remember a time when Harry didn't leave him in a puddle of mixed-up emotions. From the very moment they'd met during X-Factor, Harry had sent Louis off on a roller coaster of feelings that had nearly broken him. 

“He's never recovered,” Niall is saying. “He's still just as angry as when it all happened.”

“Well, isn't that too bad for him?” Louis snaps, his hands tightening around his beer bottle. “He fucked this up, Niall. He was the one who caused all of this.”

“It wasn't just his fault,” Niall protests weakly, his eyes flickering over to look at Louis, who refuses to meet his pained gaze. “We all had a part in this.”

“No, the three of you had no say. I didn't either, if you think about it.”

Niall looks away, shakes his head. “That's not true.”

“He gave me no choice!” Louis' voice is louder now. “He pushed me too hard to make a decision, he just couldn't let it go. I made the decision I did because I loved him and I thought somehow it'd work out for us. But it didn't. And I hate that I threw away my life – and yours and Liam's and Zayn's - for one fucking person who proved he wasn't even worth it in the end.”

Louis' hands are trembling and he can't take anymore of this so he slides off of his bar stool and makes to leave. But then he's crashing into somebody else who's apparently been standing right behind him and when he looks up, he meets a pair of green eyes. Green eyes that are wet and hurt and for once, not despondent. Harry's name is slipping past Louis' lips before he can even stop himself but the other man is already turning and heading towards the exit, pairs upon pairs of curious eyes trailing after him as he pushes past people. 

Louis is frozen, rooted to the spot and he's sure he's forgotten how to take oxygen into his lungs. He doesn't even flinch as Niall comes up behind him and pulls him backwards into a tight embrace like he's trying to keep Louis from falling apart.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to update - winter break has been a doozy. Hope you enjoy this new chapter and leave comments/criticisms/etc.! I find myself losing track of time in this story, like 'where even am I?? but I think it works. xoxo 
> 
> (Usual disclaimer applies, do I need to keep adding this?)

Zayn tells him once he's back at the hotel that Harry caught the next flight back to London and even though Louis wants to feel bad, he mostly feels rather smug and triumphant.

It's been a little over twelve long months of being the loser and Louis can't help but take this as a small victory. _Finally_ he's not the one taking the physical and verbal lashing, not the one getting the short end of the stick. It's childish and a bit perverse of him but he can't help it. He goes to bed and falls asleep immediately, getting the best rest he's had in weeks. When he wakes up the next morning, he feels oddly refreshed and actually smiles on the ride to the airport.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The high of accomplishment doesn't last very long. 

It actually lasts about ten minutes into his homecoming and ends when he opens up his laptop. Twitter and just about all media outlets are blowing up with the news that Harry Styles is dating some up-and-coming singer/songwriter signed under Simon named Rhiannon Rhodes ( _really_ , is that her real name, Louis wonders). Within minutes Louis is slamming his laptop shut like he's trying to stop a monster from crawling out of the screen. The name is familiar in the context of Harry and maybe he remembers some rumors flying around about Harry being seen with some girl, but he hadn't thought it was anything more than the usual obsession with every minute detail of Harry's life. Clearly he'd been mistaken. 

Zayn flies into the living room seconds later, uncharacteristically flustered, phone held aloft in his hand. He crashes onto the couch next to Louis and ends up knocking several magazines off the coffee table and nearly upends a lamp but Louis forgives him because _what the hell is going on?_

“Who is she?” Zayn asks, managing to gather his wits about him. “I've never heard of her!”

“She's an up-and-coming singer/songwriter,” Louis replies weakly, parroting what he'd read. 

Zayn shakes his head in wonder. "I don't get it, how'd Harry spend enough time with this girl to start dating her yet the paps barely have any photos of them together?"

It feels just like the first time but this time around, it's real and it's not just gossip. Harry himself confirmed it. He's not sure when it happened, all he knows is that one day Harry Styles is living the high life of a twenty-year-old bachelor and the next, he's dating some fresh-faced girl with long blonde hair and big brown eyes (yes, Louis Google imaged her but all in the name of research). Louis takes a deep breath, tells himself to breathe. Reminds himself that he's stronger than this and two can play this fucking game.

That's right, _two can play this game_ (he promptly tells himself to shut up because that is just too dramatic even for him).

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He ends up meeting mystery girl a week later.

They're at one of those award after-parties (that Louis still isn't sure how he gets into anymore) when he spots her. She's standing by herself at the bar, arms crossed over a heavily sequined chest and looking bored. He wonders briefly where Harry is but he doesn't seem to be anywhere in sight, which is odd, because it isn't like Harry Styles to not be the fucking center of attention at all functions, whether trying or not. However, Louis takes this opportunity to his full advantage. He skirts around clusters of people and shoots smiles here and there, recognizing less than a third of the people. Which really isn't saying much, since most people tend to turn a blind eye to him during these things. Fans might be harsh at times but celebrities take it to another level.

Their eyes meet before he even reaches her and there's a definite change in expression that comes over her face; before, she just looked asleep on her feet and now, she looks like she's being cornered by a pack of feral animals. He wonders if Harry's told her things or if she only knows him through the tabloid stories. Either way, she clearly has a less than favorable opinion of Louis. Her body language is telling him to just turn around and keep going until he's out of the building but he's already made up his mind. He's not really sure what he's planning on saying at all, he didn't really think this through. But then he's standing in front of her and Rhiannon Rhodes is not quite as sweet looking in person as she is in photos.

“Hello,” Louis says with a smile, hoping he's pulling this off already. “Congrats on the win.” 

She smiles tightly back and nods curtly. “Thank you. Louis Tomlinson, isn't it?” 

She narrows her eyes a bit at the last part, like she's trying to place his face. It should be insulting but Louis is far past the 'being offended when not recognized' stage of his post-celeb life. Plus, she's been dating Harry for about a week now and has hopefully known him for longer so if she can't even recognize the faces of his ex-bandmates then maybe there's a deeper issue at play. Either way, Louis doesn't really care (or so he tells himself).

“Yep, that's me,” Louis chirps, giving her his brightest grin. 

She blinks at him like he's just made an extremely crude joke and reaches up to absently pat at her hair which is coiled up in an intricate style at the back of her head. She really is quite beautiful but Louis can't help but think that in the flesh, she lacks the sparkle and charm that the glossy magazine covers give her. Like she's already being washed out by the stress of fame and it takes a camera flash to put some life back into her. He can see a sensational downward spiral in her future. Maybe a drunk driving citation or a drug scandal or something. 

“Okay,” she says uncomfortably, “if you're looking for Harry -”

“Oh, no, I just wanted to say hello and congratulate you,” Louis interrupts with a wave of his hand, pretending not to see the suspicious look flicker through her eyes. 

“How sweet of you.”

The deep voice comes from behind Louis and he sees the relief wash over Rhiannon's face before he actually sees the person who the voice belongs to. Not that it isn't obvious before that, of course. Harry steps around Louis and slides an arm around his girlfriend's waist, pulling her snugly into his side. She has such a huge shit-eating grin on her face that Louis' almost concerned for her own safety, but he's too busy tamping down the regret at ever having made the stupid decision to approach the woman in the first place. Because now he has to actually talk to Harry and that wasn't really a part of his plan.

“I'm nothing if not sweet,” Louis replies, voice dripping with a saccharine sarcasm that could rot teeth. 

Harry snorts rudely at the comment; had it been a couple of years back he probably would've broken out into gleeful laughter at Louis' comment but that's obviously not allowed anymore. And that thought totally knocks Louis for a loop, bad enough that he's backing away from the couple before his brain can catch up with his feet.

“I should be going now,” he says, his voice sounding far off. “Have a lovely night, yeah?”

He turns and walks away as quickly as he can without turning too many heads.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
 _  
“You're a fucking twat! A goddamned twat!”_

_Louis can't control himself because he's drunk and he's upset, a dangerous combination for anyone but especially for him. Harry is staring at him from the front door, just having arrived home. It's midnight and he's been out to the clubs but it's pretty obvious that Louis is quite a bit more intoxicated than he is. After coming home to find Harry gone, Louis'd dug a bottle of vodka out of the cabinet and had dove right in. It'd down the job of drowning out the disappointment, but had done nothing to get rid of the hollow sadness in Louis' chest._

_When Harry tries to take a step forward towards the other man, Louis just flinches and backs away. The hurt is evident in his eyes, he's not even trying to hide it. There's also a burning rage in them that threatens to consume the both of them and frankly, Harry looks a bit scared._

_“Louis, calm down,” he begins, ready to jump straight into an explanation that will hopefully appease Louis but he's cut off almost immediately._

_“No,_ no _!” Louis yells so loud Harry instinctively recoils. “You – you lied to me and I am done, Harry. I am done.”_

_Louis breaks into tears and he sinks into a crouched position, burying his face in his hands. Even in his drunk state he expects Harry to come to him, to wrap him up like he always does when he's upset and whisper him into quietness. But the warm, comforting embrace doesn't come and when he finally finds the strength in himself to look up, he sees that Harry is still standing by the door, looking down at Louis like he's witnessing the saddest, most pathetic sight on Earth. It nearly kills Louis. Maybe it does, he can't tell because a cold feeling sets in and he suddenly feels nothing but dread._

_“No, Louis, you're the one who keeps lying.” Harry's voice is steely and firm. “Every time you say that there's nothing between us, that we're just best mates, you're lying.”_

_“I – I told you,” Louis says, shaking his head frantically. “We can't tell anyone! We can't.”_

_“No,_ you _can't tell anyone. Because you think the fans will turn on us even though half of them dream about us getting together anyway,” Harry says with a dry laugh. “I have begged you,_ begged you _to do this. For me.”_

 _Louis can barely hear Harry over the sound of his own breathing, hard and ragged. “I_ am _doing this for you. I don't want people to – to think bad things or say bad things about you!”_

_“I'm not weak, Louis. I can handle a few nasty words. Plus, it's the twenty-first fucking century. Not the Stone Age.”_

_Louis shakes his head again. He's temporarily lost his ability to speak. Harry sighs and continues speaking._

_“Yes, I went out tonight with Nick but I never lied about it. There's nothing going on between me and him, why can't you see that?” The frustration in Harry's voice is threatening to break out into pure anger but he's obviously doing his best to keep it in check._

_“I … I'm sorry.” Louis sounds broken and he feels a bit broken as well._

_The look in Harry's eyes softens a bit. He finally closes the space between them and gets to his knees in front of Louis, who has sat down on the floor completely. He reaches out and grabs Louis' hands, cradles them in his bigger ones._

_“Please, Lou. Let's just … let's just come out with it, okay? We can take whatever they throw at us. We have each other, don't we?”_

_Harry reaches out, runs a hand through Louis' damp fringe and scans the other man's face with a tender gaze. Louis stays silent for a long time, his breaths going in and coming out raspy, slow. He's not really thinking about anything, his skull is filled with a static noise like there's a fucked up telly in there. It's taking everything he's got to keep from going crazy from the feeling of being bombarded yet not knowing how to deal with any of it. He's never done well under pressure._

_When he speaks, Louis' voice is soft and immensely apologetic._

_“I can't. I can't do it.”_

_He doesn't even blink as Harry drops his hands and gets to his feet, not even as a door slams shut seconds later._

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Zayn tells him not to be an idiot, to be the bigger person but Louis just shrugs him off. 

He's made his decision, and no one and nothing is going to stand in his way at this critical point in time. He feels like that nice guy who gets trampled on constantly, only to realize one day that he's doing it all wrong. He needs to fight back just as dirty. Okay, maybe he's not really trampled on constantly, maybe there's nothing to fight, and maybe Harry genuinely likes this Rhiannon girl but Louis can't help but feel like this is just another big fuck you that Harry is sending his way. 'Look, I can be perfectly happy without you' is what Louis is getting out of this whole thing. 

Louis doesn't have anyone specific in mind to help him out with his plot but that's easily remedied. He drags Zayn out to a club two days after coming back to London and it so happens to be a gay bar. When Zayn steps out of the car and sees where they are, he just rolls his eyes and sighs loudly before following Louis in. He knows that Louis struggles with his sexuality (although he secretly hopes Louis will just be honest with himself and the world and say he's gay already) but that's not public knowledge and Louis has always made sure to keep it that way. He's seen too many celebrities come out after their popularity has fizzled out, when things are safe. To come out during the height of one's fame is career suicide. But now he's one of those no-longer-famous celebs and that's opened up a very huge door. 

“I don't get it,” Zayn hisses as they emerge into the loud, chaotic bar. “Why are you doing this _now_? You've had the last year to come out.”

“Maybe I didn't want to until now,” Louis snaps back, his eyes already scanning the room for a potential target. 

It might be absolutely appalling to other people, but Louis' only form of sexual release over the past year has come in the form of his own hand. It's not that his libido just up and left him one day. No, there was a very good reason for his self-imposed sexual blockade. But nothing lasts forever, Louis thinks as he makes eye contact with a tall, lanky blonde man who's leaning against the bar. The man is chatting with another man but he's giving Louis a smug little smile that says he's reading Louis like he's an open book. A picture book, probably, because Louis is not trying to hide anything. 

“I'm telling you right now, Lou,” Zayn says before Louis completely departs from him and, consequently, his only voice of reason, “you are going to fuck yourself up worse by doing this.”

“Not possible, love,” Louis replies with a little dramatic flair before he leaves Zayn and heads towards the man at the bar. 

The man's name is Sam and he's a uni student at King's College. He recognizes Louis because his little sister was a huge fan and Louis laughs like 'how charming, that's too cute' but honestly, if that's the only way he recognizes Louis, was he living under a rock all those years? You couldn't escape One Direction at the height of their popularity; they practically invaded everyone's lives, welcome and otherwise. But nonetheless, Louis keeps going at it, puts in a valiant effort and within an hour, they're both tipsy and hands are starting to slide down arms and knees keep brushing. It's odd, showing interest in a male out in public like this (and sure, he and Zayn are still as visibly affectionate towards each other now as during their One Direction days but their touches are merely anchors, keeping each other grounded). He dances with other men but always on packed dance floors where it's never really obvious who's grinding on who.

He briefly considers ducking off to the bathroom for a breather and maybe calling Eleanor to talk this whole thing out with her because it's been a long, long time since he's done anything remotely sexual with another person but he decides to spare her the grief. He stills owes her after all this time for dating her when he didn't even have those feelings for her and truly, it's a surprise that she even still allows him to show his face around her, let alone love him dearly. So he stays put at the bar, sometimes glancing around to see if Zayn is still present or got fed up and left. It's Sam who ends up inviting him back to his place and Louis accepts immediately because this was his plan all along and it's working. He can't help but feel a bit proud of himself because he's still got game, hasn't he.

On the way out, hands clasped tightly together, Louis directs Sam towards Zayn, who is sitting at a table surrounded by a group of men who are just about as devastatingly handsome as Zayn himself (Louis maybe thinks they're shooting an advert for Grey Goose or something and Zayn somehow got involved). He unceremoniously drops his car keys onto the table, halting conversation. Everyone looks up at him and then smiles break out all at once, identical, nearly-blinding white grins (are they even British? Or models from Scandinavia or something?). Louis sweeps his eyes over all of them, bemused. Zayn is giving him a pointed look that's telling him to stop and think about the life decision he is currently making (or has made, really, because Louis'd made up his mind before even showing up at the club).

“Well, we always suspected that one of you was gay,” a man says, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, Zayn did a good job of hiding it, didn't he?” Louis retorts, throwing his best friend a wide smile. 

A rash of laughter breaks out, even from Zayn, and then they're all giving him a round of cheery good-byes as Sam tugs him towards the exit. It isn't surprising that the paps are out on the sidewalk when they emerge; Louis is convinced they're actually dogs dressed up as humans and can sniff out a good story from miles away. He's relieved to see that it doesn't faze Sam in the slightest and he even gives the cameras a large, dazzling smile before opening the door to a cab and letting Louis slide in. It's like he knows this is a big deal, that his photo will be plastered onto the internet and newspapers and magazines by morning. He probably does know. Regardless, Louis appreciates the fact that Sam looks happy at least and not like he's following Louis home so can he hand out a pity fuck.

The night seems to flash by in fast forward after that and before Louis knows it he's being pressed into Sam's flannel sheets and they're both completely naked. When he shuts his eyes, he's elated to find that there's absolutely nothing happening up in his head. All he can hear is the drag of Sam's breathing over him and the pounding of his own heart beat. He wouldn't say that what he's feeling is pleasure, really, but it's definitely not pain or loneliness or anger so he can't really complain. Plus, after everything is said and done, Sam asks that he stay the night because it's getting chilly out and it's late, and Louis decides that he did pretty well tonight, choosing this nice uni student to help him come out to the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, but you think that the feud has been explained, don't you?? (;


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So all of your comments make me so, so, so happy that I decided to post this. I'm sorry I haven't replied individually but know that I am truly appreciative. (': Honestly, you are all way too sweet. And I'm now back from break and have a far better internet connection so I'm going to go ahead and post the remaining chapters as quickly as possible so you don't have to keep waiting for me to update. xoxo

The next morning, Louis and Sam stand by the window and watch the paps sitting outside. 

They stand there silently for a good long while, leaning into each other and holding mugs of hot tea to their chests. Louis is strangely at ease and almost doesn't want to go home but he has no intentions of overstaying his welcome and he's sure that Sam has coursework or whatnot to get to. He doesn't want to get comfortable here, mostly. Getting comfortable means getting stuck and Louis has spent too much time stuck in places with people and just … he doesn't want that anymore. So he leaves. It's always easier that way, isn't it?

Sam watches from his place at the window as Louis pulls on his shoes at the front door.

“Sorry about that, by the way,” Louis says vaguely, flapping his hand towards the window.

Sam just shrugs. “Once in One Direction, always in One Direction, yeah?” 

“Ugh, don't say that,” Louis says with a grimace, making the other man chuckle.

He leaves soon after with a kiss and a number from Sam, and then he's in a cab headed home. In the rearview mirror he can see that he has a line of love bites running up his neck and he actually blushes when he meets the cab driver's eyes in the mirror. He's sure the driver doesn't give a rat's ass about what he was up to last night but an insecure part of him still wants to ask that he not judge him. He did what he had to do and that's that. But again, he doubts the driver is going to really care to know the details about his messy love life. 

Then it hits him: maybe the driver doesn't care, but other people do, don't they?

Louis fishes his phone out of his back pocket and immediately goes to Sugarscape. He doesn't want to deal with his Twitter followers and the enormous amounts of tweets they've probably sent his way so a gossip site it is. As expected, he's plastered on the front page of the site (it isn't out of conceit that he expects it, it's common sense that this is going to make headlines). They chose a photo of him sliding into the cab while Sam holds open the door for him. They're both smiling widely at each other and Louis distinctly remembers that moment; he'd said 'thanks, Prince Charming' to Sam and Sam had replied, 'you're welcome, Cinderella'. 

Before he knows it, the driver is pulling up to his flat and saying in a relieved tone of voice, 'we're here'. Louis hands over the cab fare with a quick thank you before getting out. There are more paps lingering around the lot but he ducks around corners and other cars to avoid them. He barrels through the front door of his flat within seconds, chirping Zayn's name far too loudly, considering he's indoors and it's only about nine in the morning. A reply doesn't come but he hears a scuffling noise in the kitchen and he sprints down the hall and into the room, ready to boast to his roommate about how no, Sam was not a total psycho and yes, he'd finally broken his no-sex streak.

He doesn't expect to see Liam there at all, but he is, sitting at the breakfast bar and looking incredibly sheepish. Zayn is standing across from him, leant up against the counter with an unusually subdued facial expression, like he'd been waiting for hours in this exact position for Louis to show up. Louis comes to a stop at the door, cocking his head to the side a bit as he surveys the two men in front of him. He wonders if it's normal to feel like someone who has just walked in on their spouse cheating on them. Because that's how he feels right now.

As if reading Louis' mind, Zayn sighs and beckons for him to come forward, which he does obediently. He doesn't protest as Zayn throws an arm around his shoulders and pulls him in close.

“So I see Sam got what he was looking for, then?” Zayn says suggestively, running a finger along the row of bruises on Louis' neck.

“I got what _I_ was looking for, you mean,” Louis snaps back, not missing the surprise flicker over Liam's face. He wants to see it again so he smirks devilishly and says, “You can't even see most of them.”

Zayn's amused laugh echoes around the kitchen but Louis glances over at Liam instead. He's disappointed to see that the other man has on a small smile instead of a scandalized look like he'd hoped. But Liam's eyes are empty, like he's only paying half-attention to what's going on before him.

“So, you want to explain what you're doing in my kitchen, Mr. Payne?” Louis asks, keeping his voice light and pleasant. 

Liam startles a bit, then focuses on Louis with guarded eyes. “I just … I was …”

Louis raises an eyebrow, presses his stomach up against the counter and arches forward so that his face looms close to Liam's. 

“What is it, Li Li? Go ahead, say it.”

Zayn is saying his name behind him, low and in warning, but Louis bumps him aside with his hip. Liam looks extremely, _terribly_ embarrassed and uncomfortable but he tilts his chin up a bit in defiance. Louis likes that; he wants to fight this out, he doesn't want Liam to just roll onto his back and give up like the puppy everybody thinks he is.

“I don't want to do this anymore, Louis. Being around you and Zayn again, it reminded me of how things used to be and -”

“Things aren't going to go back to the way they were just because you want to patch things up,” Louis cuts in, eyes flashing. “Where's Harry, hmm? Does he know you're trying to get in bed with the enemy?”

Liam's eyes go dark and the twitch in his jaw signifies his frustration. “Christ, Louis. When did you become such a tosser?”

Louis' answering laugh is dry and humorless. “Alright, Liam. Alright.” 

“Lou, let's just stop and talk about this, okay?” Zayn says, putting a firm hand on Louis' shoulder. “I'm sick of this, too.”

Zayn's words capture Louis' attention immediately. He jerks out of his best friend's grip and turns on him, a flabbergasted look on his face. He wasn't expecting to hear those words, but at the same time, he's not as surprised as he thinks he should be. It's almost like he was expecting this conversation to arise, he just wasn't quite sure when. He definitely had not imagined it would come up _this morning_ , of all times. 

Zayn looks a bit guilty and it's obvious that he knows how he must sound. Like a fucking traitor. 

Louis shakes his head, bewildered. “I thought you were on my side.”

“I am, Lou. I always will be. But I miss my friends. I miss not _having_ to choose a side.”

“The bloody _hell_ , Zayn?” Louis' voice has risen considerably but he doesn't bother checking himself. He's seething. “Did you not recently say that you're glad you chose my side, that you don't regret a thing?”

“Yes, I did, and that was all true. But obviously I wish that hadn't been necessary! I wish none of this shit ever happened!”

Even though he doesn't say it, Louis hears the underlying implication in Zayn's words: he wishes Louis hadn't fucked it all up for them. He wishes Louis had been able to keep it in his pants and hadn't fallen for one of their bandmates. He wishes Louis had controlled himself. 

He's backing out of the kitchen before he even realizes it. His legs are moving on their own accord, he could swear. 

“Fine.”

“Lou-”

“I said _fine_.” 

He sounds childish and bratty but he doesn't even know what he's saying anymore, really, because the hurt flooding him in that moment is so overwhelming he can't focus on anything else. He just turns and retraces his steps back out the front door, not really sure where he's planning on going and not really caring.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
 _  
This time it's Harry who's drunk._

_He's got his hands planted firmly on Nick's waist and they're pressed flush up against each other, snogging so furiously it's like they think they're on the Titanic about to sink to their deaths. Within the span of one minute they don't even come up for air once and wow, these years of singing must have resulted in Harry's lungs being able to accommodate just about any situation. Who knows how Nick's pulling it off; he is a bit of a windbag though, isn't he?_

_That's what goes through Louis' head as he stands in the entrance of the living area, frozen and not quite able to protest the scene that's playing out in front of him. He's just come back from visiting with Eleanor, who, since a week ago, is his ex-girlfriend and just a really, really great friend who he should be groveling at the feet of because fuck, has he dragged her through hell and back. They'd met for lunch and had had an overall lovely day, but none of that matters now because Harry is kissing someone else and nothing is okay anymore._

_Those sixty seconds tick by impossibly slow yet when Harry and Nick pull apart, Louis isn't ready to face either of them. They stare at one another for several more seconds, Harry's eyes blinking slowly, his lashes fluttering delicately like the wings of a butterfly at rest. Nick looks a bit like he's going to pass out but Louis can relate; kissing Harry is probably like getting your soul sucked out of your body by a Dementor (Louis actually thinks this in the moment, but he'll blame his jumbled state of mind later). When they finally notice Louis standing there, they both just go rigid, eyes widening. Louis almost feels bad for being there, like he should apologize for interrupting, but then a sweep of hot rage hits him and he starts shaking._

_“Lou,” Harry says breathlessly, already dropping his hands from Nick and starting towards Louis, who back aways immediately._

_“What …”_

_A hush falls over the three of them as they wait for Louis to finish his comment but he just stares at Harry with parted lips, searching for some sort of answer in those green eyes. He wants,_ needs, _an explanation but he can't seem to figure one out for himself and the glassiness in Harry's eyes doesn't give him one either. His stomach flips uncomfortably and he has to swallow quickly because there's bile rising up in his throat and he just feels really, really ill._

_“I'll go,” Nick murmurs as he heads toward the door and, consequently, towards Louis and Harry._

_It all happens rather fast; Louis will remember it the way one might remember a car crash – one second the world is orbiting as normal and then the next, you're being thrown sideways because the universe has shifted abruptly and the laws of gravity have gone to hell. He grabs onto Nick as he tries to slide by and then he's shoving him backwards against a wall, putting all of his strength into it. Nick is taller but he's thin and not very muscular. He can hear Harry saying something behind him but it sounds like he's underwater. All he can focus on is the way fear flashes through Nick's eyes._

_“What the fuck,” Louis snarls, “do you think you're doing?”_

_Nick doesn't say anything, just flattens himself against the wall as if somehow he'll be able to sink into it and disappear._

_“You've always had a thing for Harry, haven't you?” Louis continues. “Thought you'd get lucky if you tried hard enough? Chased long enough? You're pathetic.”_

_This seems to stir Nick into feeling some sort of emotion; he reaches up and shoves hard against Louis' shoulders, making him stumble backwards into Harry, who immediately wraps an arm around Louis' chest. It's more of a restraint than anything else, and Louis can't handle that, so he tears out of Harry's grip._

_“Pathetic? Look who's talking, yeah?” Nick says, a dry chuckle following his words. “You can't even admit to yourself that you're gay. How is it that you have any hold over Harry?”_

_His words are true and Louis knows it, but coming from the guy who was just snogging his boyfriend, it only pisses him off further._

_“You don't deserve anyone, you selfish twat. Especially not Harry.”_

_That's all it takes for Nick to push Louis straight off the edge of self-control; Louis doesn't hesitate a moment before he punches Nick straight in the nose, a satisfying crunch telling him that he's done damage. Blood is everywhere within seconds and Louis is pushed aside as Harry goes to Nick, fussing frantically over him as the older man clutches his nose. Blood seeps out between his clenched fingers and he looks absolutely floored at the state he's found himself in. Louis deflates as the anger dissipates._

_Harry is chattering madly, talking quicker than Louis' ever heard and tugging up his own shirt to wipe at the blood on Nick's chin. “Fucking christ, are you okay? Nick? Shit, shit.”_

_And that's what hurts the most. Nick's pain is more visible and more on display than Louis', but the fact that Harry ignores his suffering for Nick's is just too much. He feels hot tears sting at his eyes but he doesn't like crying, not in front of others, and he refuses to let the other two see him crumble. So he just turns on his heel, slips out of the room unnoticed and heads back out the front door. He wants to run away because lately, that's how he's learned to deal with a pressing issue. He wants to just have some space to clear his head. Or to vomit. That'd be nice, too._

_But then there are camera flashes going off and he realizes that the paps have been sitting outside the flat waiting like they know something's up. They may have well been there when he came home, too, but all of a sudden their presence is overpowering. Louis looks down at his feet and tries to hide his face but he can only imagine how crushed he must look. It's something he can't hide. He can only imagine what people will say._

_The next day, he gets a call from Liam. He picks up because he has to, because it's come to the place where ignoring phone calls is unacceptable. Every phone call is important. He can't afford to let even one go to voicemail, no matter how badly he wishes he could._

_“Louis, what have you done?” Liam sounds breathless, like he's out jogging while on his phone._

_“I know, Li, I know, but -”_

_“The paps, the tabloids – have you seen it? There's actually a photo of Nick and Harry leaving your flat on their way to the hospital! What'd you do?”_

_Louis has a fleeting desire to snap, 'Nick Grimshaw_ would _go to the hospital, that big baby,' but he holds himself back._

_“I can explain -”_

_“You two were supposed to keep this a secret! PR is going to have to go to the ends of the Earth to fix this!”_

_Liam is sounding more and more worked up, which makes Louis more and more anxious._

_He tries to get his words out. “It's still a secret, nothing's come out -”_

_“But it's still obvious, isn't it?” Liam takes a breath. “I'm not saying Harry's blameless but you overreacted, Lou. You always do that. You act before you think.”_

_On the other end, Liam falls silent. Louis doesn't even try to defend himself because everything that Liam has said is true. The pause just drags on. They're both thinking about the meaning of all this. Maybe it's always just been speculation, Louis and Harry's relationship, but now that Nick's gotten thrown into this mess with a side dish of violence, speculation is likely to turn into confirmation for some. Louis' really fucked this up. How can his outburst be explained without he and Harry being forced to come out? And what if they don't even try to explain it themselves? What will the public say about him? That he's crazy?_

_“I don't know what to say to you, Lou,” Li says at last. He sounds sad. “I just … you messed up.”_

_And then the line goes dead._

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He goes to the same person he went to after walking in on Nick and Harry a year ago – Eleanor.

She doesn't ask why he's suddenly at his doorstep this early, just steps aside and lets him slip in. They sit on the couch together, Louis stiff and staring straight ahead, and Eleanor with her legs curled up under her and arm propped up on the back of the couch. He feels her questioning gaze on him but she leaves him be as he straightens out his thoughts. This isn't anything new for them. He'd spent a good chunk of time in the past just like this, trying to figure out a way to verbalize his thoughts as she waited patiently. He'd wished so many times that he'd been able to love Eleanor more than he did. Even now he sometimes wishes that he'd wake up and suddenly be able to fall in love with her. But they both know it will never happen, that the fierce love and protectiveness they feel for each other is something else. 

“Liam came by,” Louis finally says, looking down at his hands. 

Eleanor sniffs, nods. “Okay. What for?”

“He wants us to, uh ... be friends again, I guess?”

“And you stormed out?”

“I stormed out because Zayn agreed with him.” Louis bites down hard on his lip. “He's the only one I have.”

A pregnant pause ensues as Louis lets that statement sink in and Eleanor waits for him. It's the truth but it scares him because he's never been the type of person to put all of his faith and dependency on one person. He has always preferred knowing and loving many people with differing degrees of strength. But then he'd met the boys and that had completely changed; there were days he'd wake up on the tour bus or during a flight and look around at the other four and be absolutely slammed by how much he'd come to rely on them to be his life compass.

“Do you hate Liam and Niall?” Eleanor asks, her voice soft. 

Louis starts to shake his head immediately because no, he doesn't. He actually loves them just as much as he did from the start. He's done a great job at ignoring that love, filing it away somewhere he doesn't have to deal with it. Because when he thinks about how much he adores those two, it hurts. It physically pains him to think that they turned their backs on him. And that he allowed them to without even fighting it. Especially Niall, who'd gotten caught up in the whirlwind and had eventually followed Liam, his closest bandmate. Louis had had a chance to explain to him, but he hadn't even tried.

“Do you hate Harry?”

That is another can of worms completely. Because Louis is convinced most of the time lately that he does hate Harry. He blames Harry for all the shit that he's been put through, not only in the last year but in the time before that, too, when they'd been together. But he knows that it isn't hate that fuels his anger towards the other man, but guilt. Guilt for having been too scared to be honest, guilt for having lost his control and reacting so badly, guilt for shutting down right after and refusing to let him back in. Because after the Nick fiasco, Louis had taken the blame and then closed himself off. To everyone. It took Zayn several months to finally break Louis down enough to be allowed back in to his life. 

Eleanor knows all about it, he doesn't have to tell her. He'd been so angry and heartbroken and scared and resentful. The media had blown the story way out of proportion; they'd reported that the police had to come by and break up the fight between him and Nick, and that Nick had pressed assault charges. All sorts of gossip flew around about Louis being a jealous psycho, of hating Nick for becoming Harry's new best friend when in truth, Louis had been more than a best friend and it had been about much more than friendship. 

Some fans - but not all - believed the rumors and speculation. Some started saying that Louis didn't deserve to be in the band anymore (nothing new there, he'd heard that exact sentiment since X-Factor) and that he needed to get help for whatever. That was one of the more painful aspects because those reactions had been brought on by lies, not anything else. But by then, things between him and Harry had gotten so irreversibly fucked up that he'd taken the fall for it. He'd eventually released a statement saying that he'd made a mistake, that he hadn't been thinking and he was sorry for disappointing people. Many people came to the conclusion that he'd been drunk or on drugs and had flipped out. The questions over he and Harry's romantic relationship had been kept quieter, discussed only by those who most believed in 'Larry Stylinson' and its existence.

A week after releasing his statement, Louis left One Direction and two weeks after that, the band was officially over.

“Yes,” Louis finally says but there are tears stinging his eyes and it takes a monk-like concentration to keep himself from crying. “I hate Harry.”

Eleanor sighs and the noise settles in Louis' chest, tells him without words that he's lying and he's doing a terrible job at it. 

“I want to hate him,” Louis clarifies at last. “Every time I see him smile and every time he looks even slightly happy I want to hate him because how could he smile or laugh after what happened?”

He doesn't add on his last thought: how could he be happy without me?

“Do you ever think that maybe he feels the same way?” Eleanor asks. 

Her question feels and sounds like a counter to his words so he bristles. It's something he's asked himself before, actually, but in one of those self-pitying ways that lack all logic or reason.

“I don't think about what goes through his head,” Louis retorts. “He's always been a fucking mystery.”

Eleanor leans back against the couch, smiles minutely. “So is everyone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I hope everything makes sense and adds up. I'm always afraid that I'm going to make a stupid ass mistake. D;


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically angst is my life, hello. (:

A month passes by and Louis alternates between sitting in his bedroom, visiting his family in Doncaster on weekends, and doing some small acting roles for shit telly shows. One thing he doesn't deviate too far from is a general feeling of anger and hurt because Zayn and Liam have declared some sort of war against him and have managed to drag Niall into it. 

This 'war' mostly just consists of Niall and Liam spending time around Zayn and Louis' flat, watching movies or talking or making dinner together like old times. Louis refuses to join in and when he's absolutely forced to go into the kitchen, he just pretends like he's the only one in the entire apartment. The other three just let him act like a child, never pausing in their conversation as Louis putters around, slamming cupboard doors and making a general racket. 

He starts spending more time with Eleanor and her friends, and sometimes he'll go out to the clubs to meet up with Sam and his mates. Those nights usually end in a fairly satisfying fuck and an even better cup of tea in the morning. He gets more comfortable with spending time at Sam's flat, curled up on the couch while Sam does his uni work. Overall, Louis' life is about as dull and cheerless as it was before the reunion concert, just with sex this time around. 

He follows up on what's happening with Harry through Twitter and tabloids (he's sunk so low even _he's_ ashamed of himself) and it appears that he's doing quite well with his up-and-coming singer/songwriter girlfriend. They're beautiful together, as seen in photos, strolling down sidewalks hand in hand and wearing almost matching outfits as their hair blows messily in the wind (Louis has sunk very, very low). 

Mostly, Louis lives in his own little bubble, so out of character and unlike him that everyone looks at him with a hint of concern in their eyes. Even his little sisters study him now with worry, like he's about to unravel before their eyes or break down in a spectacular show of flames and explosions. He pretends it doesn't faze him, but it does, because he's starting to become a stranger to himself and he's never before felt so unhinged and afloat. 

The tabloids still talk about him and the ambiguity of his sexuality but after a week of following up on himself, he'd started getting all sorts of disillusioned and confused, because that version of himself didn't make any sense, either. He doesn't check the news on himself anymore; they'll make shit up regardless. They've always created their own special version of Louis Tomlinson.

He thinks he's still the same Louis Tomlinson, but it's getting harder to sift through the layers that surround him, defending him against outside forces. It's really just beginning to get harder and harder to figure out the question - is he still the same Louis Tomlinson?

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They're at some club that Louis faintly recognizes but in the end, all clubs are basically the same, aren't they? Same loud music, same fruity drinks and shit beer, same glittery dresses and short skirts, same desperate need to find someone to take home for the night disguised by circuitous conversations about what you're studying at uni or where you work. 

Louis is mostly having fun despite the cliché setting, tucked against Sam's side at a table filled to capacity with Sam's school friends. It's nice because they treat him like any bloke with a regular life, not like who he actually is. They talk about uni parties and terrible professors and Louis wonders what life would've been like if he'd never tried out for X-Factor.

But then he's getting sucked into a reoccurring nightmare because heads are turning and Harry's weaving through the club with his pretty girlfriend in tow. Louis almost loses his shit right then and there with a tableful of witnesses. Instead he just breaks out into a semi-drunk grin that may or may not be a quieter version of losing one's shit. He's reminded that Sam _does_ remember he has a history with fame and all that messiness because his arm tightens around Louis at the sight of Harry at the bar. He doesn't seem to notice that Louis is looking at everywhere but Harry with that idiotic smile plastered on his face and if he does, he ignores it. He's comforted by the fact that Sam is basically trying to hold him together. The keyword here being _trying_.

Inside Louis' head, there's only mad laughter and jumbled words: this isn't bloody fucking happening to me nope I refuse to believe this what a life ruiner oh christ are they wearing matching blazers no nope okay.

“Should we go?” Sam whispers into Louis' ear, his free hand squeezing Louis' knee. “Not because I, like, want to jump you this instant but because, you know …”

Louis nods and then they're both standing, making excuses for their rapid departure that are really unnecessary and mostly just make things more obvious. All of Sam's friends seem to understand; they just shoot them sympathetic looks and wave them off. Louis grabs his jacket and starts to shrug into it as they begin heading towards the doors. 

He's still struggling to get one arm into a sleeve when someone grabs his outstretched arm and brings him to a stuttering halt. Sam keeps walking, oblivious, and Louis has half a mind to call out to him but instead he spins around and comes face to face with Harry. Shouldn't be that surprised, really. 

Harry's eyes are dark in the club lighting but he looks pretty sober for once, which makes this whole confrontation a bit odd. His eyebrows are furrowed and he's moving his lips around but not saying actual words for some reason. Louis just blinks at him, looking a bit appalled. They're standing right outside the hallway leading to the bathrooms and Louis knows before it even happens that he's just utterly fucked. 

Harry pulls him down the dark corridor and into the men's restroom without a word, pushing him all the way to the very last stall. Inside, Louis presses himself against the wall, watching as Harry slides the bolt and locks them into this dirty little cell. He wants to ask how it came down to this, the two of them in some club bathroom.

For a full thirty seconds Louis just keeps staring at Harry and Harry just breathes rapidly as he steadies himself against the door. When Harry turns around, it's not to speak but to push forward and smash his lips against Louis'. He has to brace himself against the wall he's pressed against so his head doesn't smash into it, and he wonders when Harry will actually manage to give him a concussion.

But Louis doesn't even fight it, doesn't put one ounce of effort into pretending like he's disgusted because _fuck_ , he isn't, okay. He's mostly resigned to this, like it's been written in the stars for him and he can't run away from fate. He's not sure if he should be angry that this is something he can't escape or be relieved for the same reason. All he knows is that his lips are going to be swollen and Harry's fingers are digging bruises into his hipbones. But the kiss doesn't taste like alcohol this time, not on Harry's end anyway, and that's almost nice. 

When they pull apart, it's a mutual drawing away, and Louis wonders when this became equal, this struggle. He's felt like the losing contender all this time, constantly being forced to drag himself up off the ground to throw another sloppy punch. But as he looks into Harry's eyes and sees the bittersweet mixture of love and despair in them, he knows the pain has finally been divided evenly. The way he sees it, Harry came out with everything: the larger portion of One Direction, Nick, most of the fans, the public's sympathy, the chance to perform music with the support of others. The only thing he'd lost was Zayn and Louis, and maybe those things were expendable in comparison to everything else. Sacrifices always have to be made, right?

But now Louis' not so sure and clearly Harry isn't either, and maybe once he would've reveled in it, but standing in this bathroom stall, he just feels tired.

“I love you,” Harry says, his voice nearly blocked out by the music thumping through the walls. “I can't fucking stand this.”

“You've done it for a year already, maybe longer,” Louis replies simply. 

The way Harry's face pulls into a disbelieving grimace fails to impact Louis in any shape or form. He wants this to be over already and it isn't just the three shots of whisky weighing him down. In the early aftermath of their fallout, he'd dreamed of this. Maybe not being pulled into a club bathroom to get snogged roughly, but some sort of collision that'd leave him in Harry's arms again. He'd always known that those fantasies would linger for as long as he lived because the love he and Harry had shared was just too powerful to shake off all together. And that's still true now, but it's far too exhausting to keep hoping and telling yourself to face reality all at the same time. Louis' patience with himself has wound down and it's starting to dawn on him.

“Tell me,” Louis says flatly, “tell me that you'll drop everything else to be with me right now.”

Harry swallows thickly and begins to run his hand through his hair, a bad sign. 

“We – we need to discuss this a bit more, yeah? Before we start making big decisions and -”

“No,” Louis interrupts, his voice never rising from its dispassionate lull, “I've wasted a whole year moping around over you and I'm so bloody tired of myself, Harry. How does anyone even tolerate me anymore? I'm not fun the way I used to be.”

Harry seems to have no answer for this so Louis presses on. This could be his last chance – no - it _will_ be his last chance because he will not let this happen again.

“I can't believe it's taken me this long, really.” Louis chuckles weakly. “We'll be fine without each other. Obviously, we've survived so far.”

Harry cuts in with a shake of his head. “Surviving isn't -”

“Living?” Louis supplies, raising an eyebrow. “Oh fuck off, Harry. Don't try to pull that shit with me. We're not writing a song here. You do realize that you won? You won this. Maybe Niall and Liam have seen the light or whatever, but we'll never be the same, the three of us. I'll always feel bitter towards them no matter how hard I try not to and that's … that's not fair.”

Harry looks absolutely distressed now, his sobriety keeping him from numbing out his emotions. He was never good at hiding his feelings in the past and he's just as bad at it now, Louis thinks. It's no wonder that he'd spent so much of the reunion trip to the states drunk. The emotional roller coaster would've left him hysterical.

“I didn't win anything,” Harry splutters, “It wasn't a – a _competition_. You think I was trying to beat you at something?”

“Sometimes it felt that way,” Louis admits, closing his eyes for a few seconds before opening them back up. “It felt like we got thrown into a pit. Like we were expected to defeat each other.”

“I …” Harry's at a loss for words and Louis wants to feel something about that – heartbreak, triumph, anything – but he mostly wants to sit down on the toilet or the floor and take some of the pressure off his body. 

“Are you coming to me now because of my thing with Sam?” Louis asks, the thought hitting him like a runaway train. “Because I finally outed myself to the entire world?”

Harry's eyes grow even wider and his lips part. Louis feels a heat rise up the back of his neck. Well, fuck. 

“You just … you never would've even looked my way if I'd stayed in the closet, would you've? You had to see me go back on my words and do exactly what you said I should've ages ago. You had to see me give in. This isn't a bloody competition, Harry? Because I think it is.” 

The tension in the stall is so thick now that Louis can't take it; he lunges towards the door and slams the lock open, flinging himself out of the cramped space and away from Harry (he has the fleeting thought that thank god no one else is in the room because that would've been just too much). He feels Harry's crushing presence behind him, even though he's not sure if the other man is actually following him, and speeds to the bathroom door.

He's out in the heat of the club within seconds and out into the night air even sooner.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Louis crashes into his flat, dead set on finding Zayn because even though he's been basically avoiding him for the past month, he needs his best mate.

He bursts into the living room just as he starts really crying. He doesn't realize that Liam and Niall are over at the flat until three sets of arms wrap themselves around his trembling body. They sort of sink into a crouched huddle on the floor with Louis at the center as his cries turn into sobs that have him gulping for air like he's five again. Someone starts petting his head in an insanely soothing manner and he feels a chin resting on his shoulder and a chest pressed up against his back. He finds that he hasn't completely lost the ability to endure these suffocating, consuming embraces and instead is reminded of how comforting they are. If anything good comes out of this night, it's the knowledge that he's still capable of loving the same small things that he used to. He sits on the floor and weeps within the circle of arms for a solid fifteen minutes, the tightness of those arms never wavering. They all stay silent after he settles down, his face hidden against Zayn's shoulder. This is new, Louis thinks dazedly, his eyes focusing on the wet splotch on Zayn's grey shirt that his dripping tears have left. 

He'd rarely ever been the one needing this intensive level of support when they were still together as a band. He'd never really even cried in front of them, not like this. So it feels new. But in a familiar sort of way. Like he has always known that they'd do this for him but he just never needed it until now. His heart expands painfully at this thought but it's a sweet pain, a pain that says _'you've realized it at last, you dolt, congratulations'._

“Harry, then?” Niall's soft voice floats into the web of their bodies.

Louis laughs hoarsely. “No, they ran out of my favorite juice at Tesco's, actually.”

There's a chorus of chuckles and then Louis' being helped up to his feet by all three of them. They spend the rest of the night cuddled up protectively around Louis on the couch, telly off, quiet and maybe not comfortable, but content for the time being. They don't talk about Harry or what happened to break them all apart. They just sit and sometimes someone will hum something, or a random comment will be made. 

They all fall asleep like that, cramped and bony limbs digging into each other, but not sure how any other way could feel better.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, the big news is that Harry Styles is single again. 

Louis doesn't do anything but scan the numerous headlines over his tea and toast, over the noise of the other boys squabbling in the living room as they play FIFA.

But he does think that this is a start. As if from wherever he is, Harry is reaching out and saying _'I'm trying.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, Louis and Harry end up in a club bathroom at least 90% of the time. It's their destiny. Hope you all enjoyed!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for posting chapters in a hurry! This is the third for the day and I'll post a few more tomorrow. This one's pretty short but it mostly stands as a filler anyway, so. (: Hope you all enjoy it nonetheless!

Forgiveness is normally a difficult thing for Louis to give others but he surprises himself by allowing Niall and Liam back into his life with little resistance. 

They're over so often now it'd be difficult to keep up any pretense of resentment, really. Louis wonders once in a while if it bothers Harry, or if he even knows that Liam and Niall are back in Zayn and Louis' lives. He never asks Liam nor Niall, though, just keeps it to himself. He's happy they're friends again, or at least trying to rebuild that friendship, but he never says that to anyone. Even though every time they show up at the doorstep of the flat, beaming, Louis' heart does this little wrench of love and gratitude. He just wants to wrap them up in hugs every single time he sees them; they have a year to make up for, after all. But he refrains from doing so, and although things are closer to the way they were than ever before, Louis still feels a distance between him and the rest of them, like the river has shrunk to a creek. He can't quite make that last hop and get his feet wet. He tells himself that it isn't bitterness, it's weariness. And the other two treat him with the same cautiousness, with the same pair of kid gloves. 

It doesn't help that he starts bringing Sam around to the flat. Every time the blonde man steps through the door and the others are around, they give him tight smiles and fake welcomes. Louis knows they're waiting for someone else to appear through that door with his cheeky grin and windswept curls. It's the last step to total reclamation of the past, when maybe they weren't necessarily happier, but when they were all confused and mixed-up together. But they don't understand what it would take for that to happen, and Louis doesn't have the heart or patience to explain it to them. Explain that happy endings do not come in neat completion, that there is always something you are forced to give up in order to have some shred of happiness. Louis has come to the conclusion that in return for getting his best friends back, he has to give up Harry and even though it hurts in that dull throbbing sort of way, it's better than nothing.

He drowns himself in Sam's warmth when he feel the loneliest. The other man knows that Louis isn't always present when they're together but he never says a word about it, just takes what he can get, and Louis is struck dumb by it. If he was in Sam's shoes, he'd raise a riot and complain until he dragged the other man out of his own head. But Sam just unbuttons Louis' jeans with confident fingers, pushes them down with a genuine smile before sinking to his knees. Afterwards, he always lies behind Louis in bed and wraps an arm around him, telling him funny stories about his family and his friends. Not because he's self-centered but because he knows Louis doesn't want to even be living his own life, let alone hear about it. But it isn't the stories or the sex that get to Louis, pull at him painfully. It's the smile that Sam directs his way when he knows Louis needs it. When he gets especially lost in his thoughts, Louis imagines that smile saying to him, _'I know I'm not who you wish I was, but just let me be enough for right now.'_

But then he pushes that thought away, because not everybody is content with 'enough'. Just Louis.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The photos start appearing like weeds, sprouting out of control before anyone can even try to stop them (maybe no one's even trying).

Louis spends nearly two hours on his laptop, scrolling and clicking. His heart beats painfully hard in his chest and it takes all of his willpower not to spring off the couch and just run. Where are you, Harry? A voice in his head echoes sadly as he stops on one picture of Harry ducking out of a strip club, green eyes bloodshot and mouth set in a grim line. His hair is messed up but not in a cute tousle like normal. It looks like hundreds upon hundreds of rough hands have run through it. His clothes are rumpled and he looks like he's dead on his feet. 

Zayn comes to a stop behind Louis and bends over the couch, letting his hands rest on Louis' shoulders. He says nothing for a moment, just stares at the pictures as Louis scrolls through each one. They'd only started popping up about three days ago but there seems to be an insane number of them, all varying in ugliness. All showing Harry in different states of wretchedness.

“What the bloody hell is he doing?” Zayn mutters, shaking his head. 

“I don't know. But I'm worried.” Louis looks over his shoulder, eyes meeting Zayn's. 

They share a look, an understanding in that moment of contact. Zayn sucks his lips between his teeth, bites down hard. Louis looks back at the current photo, struggles not to just reach out and run a finger along the pasty pixelized cheek that is turned away from the camera trying to hide, dark eyelashes brushing up against the bone. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“He's always drank pretty heavily,” Liam says from his spot by the window, his hands clenched together so tightly his knuckles are white. 

Niall nods. “Yeah, he'd go out any night he could. But now it looks like it's gotten worse.” 

Zayn and Louis are sitting on the couch, hip to hip while Niall sits on the ottoman by their feet, elbows on knees and back hunched. Neither Louis nor Zayn had had to call the two over; they'd shown up the next morning without notice at what Liam deemed a “reasonable hour” (eight o'clock in the morning, Zayn likes to remind everyone). 

“I mean, should we say something? Or at least … should you two?” Zayn stammers, looking between Liam and Niall. 

There's a beat of silence as they all share glances of uncertainty. Louis doesn’t miss the fact that three pairs of eyes keep looking over at him, expectant. He keeps his eyes trained on the window behind Liam, refusing to acquiesce to the silent plea being thrown his way. 

He knows what they want from him; they want him to go to Harry, rush in like fucking Prince Charming and save him from the big, dangerous baddy. But this is no fairytale and Harry is the villain of his own life. How do you fight something that's not even visible?

“He's a grown man, he can fix his own problems.” Louis' voice is cool and unforgiving, despite the churn of remorse in his gut.

The shared look in the other men's eyes is almost enough to make him take back his words. But he holds himself back because he has to put his foot down sometime. Niall shakes his head, looks down at his feet. Liam turns towards the window and hides what Louis assumes is an expression of disappointment. 

Zayn just reaches out and puts a hand on Louis' shoulder. His brown eyes are trying to tell him that it's okay, he's being perfectly fair, but he wants what Niall and Liam want just as badly. He's doing a shit job of looking sincerely supportive. They all see this as Louis' chance to make amends, to take the final leap and build a bridge over the gap that has separated him from Harry for so long.

“Okay, I'll talk to him then,” Liam finally says, a bone-deep weariness in his voice that somehow avoids sounding spiteful or bitter. 

He moves towards the front door and Niall gets to his feet, following him without a word. Even after so much progress, there are unspoken loyalties and bonds between the men that are as good as permanent by now. It's nothing worth fighting or trying to change. They are caught in a spiderweb made of chain link and there's nothing to do but be still and unresisting to reality. Some things just are. 

Zayn and Louis show them out, hug both men before closing the door behind them. The door hasn't even clicked shut before Zayn's turning abruptly on his heel and walking down the hall to his room a bit too heavily. He's frustrated and wants Louis to know. Sighing, Louis gives in and follows his best friend until he's in the doorway of Zayn's room. Zayn is sifting through his closet, agitated, and Louis can tell he's just doing it to keep his hands occupied. 

“Zayn.”

“Louis.”

“What's wrong?”

Zayn turns around, both hands clenching at a t-shirt. He's seething and it's been a while since Louis has been the target of such quietly burning anger. He wants to be afraid at this sudden u-turn in emotion but instead he's just resigned to it, almost wants to encourage Zayn. _Please, say something hurtful and try to break me down because it'd be nice to hear somebody other than myself do it for once._

“Why? Why can't you just do this _one thing_? Why can't you talk to Harry?” 

“It's not just one thing,” Louis replies carefully, “it's a hundred things in one.”

Zayn grimaces, clearly confused. “Stop, Lou. Stop being so – so vague.”

“I don't think vague's the word you're looking for, mate.”

“You're right, it's not. What I meant to say is, stop being such a wanker.” 

Louis' answering laugh is chirping and light. This is exactly what he simultaneously feared and wanted in a sick, twisted way. 

“I can't. That's who I am.”

“Bloody hell,” Zayn erupts, throwing the shirt away from him (it turns into a weak little toss that sends the shirt spiraling down gently), then he's ripping shirts and jackets off of their hangers, tossing them onto the ground. Louis watches silently as Zayn empties out the closet, leaving the wooden hangers trembling once he's finished. He doesn't quite understand what brought on the strange behavior, and it still hasn't hit him by the time Zayn turns, eyes wild, and opens his mouth.

“I'm leaving.” 

“What?” Louis asks, mind blank.

“I'm going to stay somewhere else until you figure this out.” 

Zayn grabs a duffel bag from the back of the closet and kneels and begins to gather all of his clothing into a pile. He doesn't even bother folding anything; he just shoves it all into the bag in one clump. 

“Where are you going?” 

“To Perrie's.”

This is what brings Louis crashing headfirst back to Earth. 

“You're seeing her again?” 

Zayn and Perrie had broken up around the same time that Harry and Louis had. Even now, Louis blames himself for the end of that relationship; he'd desperately needed Zayn, all of him, and Zayn had sacrificed what he'd had with Perrie in order to take care of Louis. He rarely speaks about her, if at all, but that's how Louis' always known that he's still not over her.

“I've been … keeping in touch, yeah.” Zayn suddenly looks guilty. “We're just friends right now, though.” 

“That's great, Zayn,” Louis says, shocked into sincerity. “Really.”

Zayn just shrugs as he zips up his bag with a determined tug. He throws the bag over his shoulder and heads to the door, only stopping to press a quick, hard kiss to Louis' temple before breezing past. No other words are exchanged and the only sound that lets Louis know that Zayn has gone is the close of the door. 

There's no need for good-byes. Louis knows Zayn would never leave him for good. This is only temporary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the next chapter will be a bit different and not from Louis' POV for once. (;


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So someone asked how many more chapters are left and seeing as it's finished, I can definitively say around 7. 8 if I decide an epilogue is necessary. I'll post a few today and the remaining tomorrow, seeing as I start classes on Wednesday and it'll be perfect timing. (: 
> 
> Also, this chapter includes more detailed sexual content and is also where the non-con/abuse takes place, so obviously heads up for potentially upsetting content. It's not a huge chunk of the chapter by any means, but nonetheless. 
> 
> This is a really short, depressing, angsty chapter and I can't promise that things will be super cheery in the following chapters but hey, drama is fun, right? Enjoy. xoxo

He spends his days telling himself he'll be okay. 

He repeats the same overused mantra in his head: _twenty-four hours, twenty-four hours of today then tomorrow, tomorrow will be different._ Sometimes, he feels a surge of hope and brightness, but those bursts of feeling are never random anomalies; no, they come after a snort of white powder or a little pill that could be mistaken for candy. But once the high begins to wear off, he's left feeling just as hollow and aimless as before, but with a deep, crushing sort of weight that threatens to choke him. There are invisible hands around his neck at all times, now. He feels like he needs to break out of his skin in order to just breathe. 

He collapses into bed after those nights with tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, hating himself for who he is and hating everybody around him for accepting it. He doesn't understand how he has turned out this way, when there are so many people in his life who 'care'. Why hadn't his mother or sister said anything? Why hadn't Liam or Niall spoken up? Why hadn't anyone questioned how he'd turned into such a fucked up, rotten mess? Why aren't they now? He usually ends up swallowing back the tears and refusing to let them fall because crying for himself is the final straw, the apex of the wretched mountain he's built for himself.

During daylight hours he strums his guitar in the wreckage of his bed and stares out the window at the London skyline. He'll close his eyes sometimes to imagine what Louis might be doing in his own apartment. Is he laughing with Zayn, sitting at the table with a cup of Yorkshire tea in front of him? Is he curled up in bed, dreaming? Is he maybe staring out the window wondering the same exact thing about Harry? When the thoughts get especially heavy he just tosses his guitar aside, grabs his phone and calls people until he finds someone willing to distract him.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first time he goes too far is the night after the photos of Louis and the blonde-haired man appear on the internet.

He's still dating Rhiannon but he can't bring himself to call her up that particular night, which is ironic since he's been using her as a distraction all this time anyway. Tonight he needs a diversion that is so out of the norm that it leaves him shaken and unbalanced, asking himself 'why?' the next morning. 

He goes out to a club that he doesn't usually frequent, knowing there's less chance of him being seen and recognized. He goes alone, hair tucked under a beanie and trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. It's so late that most everybody inside is already off their face, and it doesn't take him too long to figure out that alcohol is not the only substance responsible for the glassiness in people's eyes and the dazed smiles that are plastered across faces.

The first drug he ever does (besides pot) is ecstasy. 

Some girl hands him a pill in the middle of the dance floor and he slips it under his tongue without hesitation. Before he knows it, the room is spinning in a vortex of color and he feels like he could literally dance for hours. He wants so badly to have his lips attached to somebody else's, to have his hips pressed firmly against another's. He can't remember the last time he felt this hungry for human contact.

Whether it's because he's still basically a celeb or because he's practically gagging for it, he's not sure, but in no time he's shoved against the wall of a bathroom stall as some dark-haired bloke deep throats him. His hands are buried in the stranger's hair and he lets out a shaky moan as the other man hums around his cock. When he comes, he does so with a strangled yelp and only when he's fully wound down does he allow the other man to get to his feet. 

The second time he goes too far is after Louis leaves him in the bathroom stall of a different club, having basically thrown Harry's 'I love you' back in his face.

He breaks up with Rhiannon that very night and the next night, he goes out to another club to drown out the double sorrow of not only missing the person he wants, but also missing the person he never wanted but had nonetheless. It's a shitty place to be, he comes to find. This time, he does two lines of coke with people he doesn't know and then finds himself in the strangely unfamiliar territory of his own bed, his hands pinned over his head as some man (blonde this time) wetly presses open-mouthed kisses along the expanse of his throat. It doesn't start off that bad, but it doesn't take long for that to change.

He wants to say no but he can't get his mouth to form words even as the man pushes himself inside without even an attempt at preparation; he can only let out a groan of pain in protest. He has never experienced anything so degrading, so agonizingly dehumanizing as the rushed, loveless thrusts the man slams against him. When the stranger asks, ' _do you like this, you little slut?_ ', he just shuts his eyes and lets his head fall to the side. He can't stand looking at the man any longer. A droplet of sweat hits his closed eyelid and so he thinks that maybe a couple of tears will go unnoticed, disguised within the dampness the man is raining down upon him. 

The bright lights streaming through his window give him away; the man grabs his chin and pulls his face upwards, demands that he open his eyes without even faltering in his robotic in-and-out motions. The man is absolutely wrecked on drugs and alcohol, and it terrifies Harry. He can't stop the tears from streaming down the sides of his face so the man slaps him, actually _hits him_ with his open palm, seconds before his release. Nobody ever sees the nameless man entering or exiting the flat, nobody ever knows about the destruction he leaves behind.

The drugs don't become a habit, necessarily, but the paps always seem to catch him during his times of weakness, when he just can't say no. 

A week after their break-up, Rhiannon shows up at his door wearing a short, tight dress and absurdly high heels that contradict her good girl persona . She practically begs him to fuck her. So he does, telling himself as he mercilessly pounds into her that this is what she wanted, that he's just giving her what she asked for. 

She climaxes with his name on her lips, at a volume and in a tone that sounds too put-on but it's all that it takes for him to go straight off the cliff of desperate, frantic release. His mind is wiped clean as he comes, shuddering above her, and it's only in that moment of utter nothingness that he escapes the devastating guilt of having used someone when he knows firsthand how that feels.

The next morning, he ignores her as she shakes his shoulder, just turns onto his side away from her and closes his eyes until he hears her leave the room, then the flat. He sits up a few minutes later and grabs his guitar, propping himself up against the headboard. He ignores the tangled bedsheets, the comforter half on the bed, half on the floor.

He remembers how he asked Niall to teach him how to play the guitar, how he played his first full song to Louis as he sat up in bed with the blue-eyed boy stretched out half-naked in front of him. He remembers the proud, admiring look on Louis' face as he extended one needy hand and said, _'come here, you, look what you've done to me.'_

_Look what you've done to me._

_Look._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. )':


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs mentioned in this chapter are "Eyes Wide Open" by Gotye and "Misty Eye" by Aiden Grimshaw. Thanks for sticking with me and this horrendously angsty story. xoxo

The sound of Harry's voice is so familiar yet so foreign that it rocks Louis to the core. 

Harry's sitting on the stage, perched on the edge of a stool with the mic pressed close to his lips as he sings a song Louis doesn't recognize. The lights are low and the band behind him is mellow even as they play their instruments, as if they too have caught the same low-energy, sedated placidity of their frontman. 

_So this is the end of the story_  
 _Everything we had, everything we did_  
 _Is buried in dust_  
 _And this dust is all that's left of us_  
 _But only a few ever worried._  
 _Well, the signs were clear, they had no idea_  
 _You just get used to living in fear_  
 _Or give up when you can't even picture your future_  
 _We walk the plank with our eyes wide open..._

Louis is tucked away in a corner where the lights don't reach, wedged in between Liam and Niall at a table. Zayn had turned down the offer to come out for the night, but Louis understands. He suspects his best friend is trying to patch things up with Perrie and he's okay with that. Somebody deserves to be happy, especially the only person who'd been willing to stick with his insufferable, moping best friend.

Louis' not sure why he'd said yes himself but he's actually glad that he did (it also helped that Niall had practically _begged_ , and who could really deny Niall anything?). He's missed hearing Harry's voice, to be quite honest. In a fit of angry grief, he'd promised himself after leaving One Direction to never voluntarily listen to another one of their songs again. He'd kept the promise to himself; one familiar note coming from the stereo meant turning it off or leaving the room. He'd hunted down every copy of their album that he owned and broke them in half, right in front of a somber Zayn. That easy.

But Louis has never forgotten any of their voices, the way they sound. He knows this because he can tell that something has changed in Harry's voice; it sounds like something is tainting that low, soulful tone. Sadness, maybe. Maturity, possibly. Regardless, he sounds beautiful in a way that sends chills down spines. Or Louis', at least.

“He's still brilliant, isn't he?” Niall asks, close to Louis' ear. 

Louis just nods in response as the current song comes to a close. Applause breaks out and Harry smiles shyly out at the crowd. Too many people are packed into the bar and it's probably a fire hazard but this is Harry Styles and his gigs are far and few between nowadays, so a blind eye can be turned. Harry pushes his fringe out of his eyes and licks his lips as he looks down at his feet. He looks young, far too young, and Louis wants so badly to wrap his arms around him that it hurts. He has to dig his nails into his thighs in order to keep the feeling at bay. 

“Thanks for coming out tonight, everyone,” Harry says, his green eyes coming back into view. “We have one more song for you. It's another cover. I hope you've all had a good time.”

He grips the mic stand with both hands as the drummer opens up the song, his head beginning to bob with the beat. Louis glances down at his hands, now clenched together on the tabletop, then back up at the stage, only to see that Harry has turned his attention over to their corner. His eyes are on Louis and he looks frozen in that moment. 

Louis knows the song, knows that Harry will miss his opening at this rate so he just tips his chin, signals at Harry to go. Harry nods, looking dazed, then opens his mouth.

_Silhouette of emptiness wrapped up in thoughts of nothing less_  
 _My chest is pressed as I attempt to cross this bridge you're building_  
 _Limitations take control_  
 _Show your cards and watch me fall_  
 _This paper heart is lost in fire_  
 _But I'm not burning_  
 _I'm not burning..._  
 _I'm not burning..._  
 _I'm not burning..._

Harry takes a deep breath and Louis' sure his heart misses a beat. 

_Got a misty eye on you_  
 _Thought that all your lies were true_  
 _I step aside after countless times of hurting_  
 _You watch me stepping out the light_  
 _Emotions bottled up inside_  
 _What am I to say?_  
 _Should I float away to nothing?_  
 _I'm still searching..._

Louis surprises himself by staying the entire song instead of getting up and fleeing like he wants to. Some self-preserving part of his conscious screams for mercy, begs him to leave so he can escape the voice assaulting his ears with its heartache and sorrow. But he's rooted to his chair, stuck wondering if Harry's singing about him or …

“Harry's coming over here,” Niall hisses, so near that his lips brush against the shell of Louis' ear. 

In the other ear, Liam mumbles, “Stay calm, Lou.”

It's like he has an angel and a devil on both shoulders; he just can't tell who's the angel, who's the devil, or even if it's that simple.

With a surprised twitch, Louis brings himself back to reality. Sure enough, Harry is weaving around a group of people, shooting them sheepish, apologetic smiles as they reach out but fail to stop him. When he finally reaches their table, his green eyes are shining in a way that Louis has not seen for some time. There's a real glimmer of happiness in them and Louis is afraid to ask himself if he could ever bring himself to destroy that tenuous thread of hope. 

Because he knows he could, if he had to. If he wanted to.

“Hi,” Harry says, breathily. “How'd I sound?”

Liam and Niall all congratulate him on a job well done but Louis just looks at him with unreadable blue eyes, lips set. Harry's question was for all of them but he's only looking at Louis, searching for validation. It's just like Harry to think that a song will win people over, that it will speak for him and mend breaks that unsung words cannot. It worked before, so why not now?

Louis shrugs, “You've always sounded good, haven't you?”

It reads like a compliment but sounds indifferent, cavalier. As Louis feared, the exuberance in Harry's eyes falters, then fizzles out. He wants to hurt himself for it but he just looks down at his hands, clenched together on top of the table. He can feel the tension from all around him. Niall and Liam are practically quivering with it.

Harry is gone before he knows it and then Niall is punching him hard in the shoulder, making Louis squawk out in pain.

“Go after him, you cunt!” Niall yells, loud enough that a few people nearby turn their heads. 

Louis yields without complaint; he gets to his feet and walks away from the table without a backward glance. He didn't see Harry leave but he can guess where he's gone. He slides his way past people and ignores the pointed looks, the jovial greetings, the hushed comments not meant to reach his ears. 

He knows he won't be able to get out the side door so he goes the roundabout way, towards the front entrance. He brushes past the bouncer and walks briskly down the sidewalk, turning into the alley that the bar's side door leads out to. It's dimly lit but there are a number of people milling about, talking loudly and laughing. 

Louis spots Harry after a few moments of looking. The other man is further down, leant up against the wall and staring down at his feet. He has a cigarette balanced between two fingers, hovering near his lips. Louis doesn't hesitate; once he's within arm's reach he grabs the cigarette from Harry's fingers, drops it to the ground and grinds it into a pulp under one shoe. 

When he looks up, he meets Harry's eyes and sees that heart wrenching innocence and nervousness that comes out once in a while when least expected. He doesn't allow it to sway him. He can't and he won't. He feels guilty and he should, but he doesn't want Harry to have that sort of power over him. He wants to fight it and not let it defeat him. So naturally, he acts irrationally. 

“When did you become so _weak_?” Louis snarls, too far into Harry's personal space.

“Lou-” Harry's voice matches the look in his eyes, feeble and timid.

“No, tell me that I'm a twat, tell me that I'm a miserable bastard! That I had no right to say that to you back there!” 

Louis has no idea where these words are coming from but they're spilling out like odds and ends stuffed too tightly into a closet. He doesn't even notice that everyone's high-tailed it back into the bar, having caught on to the fact that something's about to go down. It's not even a scene worth rubber-necking; it's clearly going to be too gory of a sight to take any great pleasure out of.

“No.” Harry sounds a bit less meek, but it's not enough for Louis.

“Just bloody say it, Harry!” 

He's a split second away from making the decision to either shove Harry hard against the wall or retaliate in some other physical manner, but then Harry flinches like he knows what Louis' thinking. And that small, miniscule reaction breaks Louis. He's expecting it, expecting Louis to lash out at him with his hands, and that completely takes away whatever anger he's harboring. 

“Shit. I'm sorry,” Louis murmurs as he reaches out, placing his hand against Harry's heaving chest, right over where his heart labors. 

“Don't,” Harry whispers, “Yell at me, just don't …”

Louis feels the blood in his veins go cold and so many thoughts, fears, suspicions, denials whip through his head that he's left dizzy. Something in Harry's voice speaks of past pain. He does and doesn't want to know what secrets lie behind the words just uttered; he knows that either way, he won't be satisfied with his decision. 

“Let's go home,” Louis mumbles, letting his hand drop from Harry's chest to grab onto one of his hands instead. 

Harry nods, bites his lip. “Take me home.”

Louis wishes he could laugh at that comment and everything it alludes to but he just lets out a dry, choked sob instead.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He watches Harry sleep from his chair by the window. He knows he looks creepy, sitting there silently shadowed by the moonlight, but there's something mesmerizing about the sight of the curly-haired man asleep in his bed again. It's a different bed in a different flat in a different time but nonetheless, it sparks the same fondness within his chest. He wants this to become a permanent sight, a painting that he can hang on the wall and stare at forever. The way Harry's dark hair falls into his face, the way his head rests in the crook of his elbow and the way those swallows stand out in stark contrast against his pale collarbones - all seem fit for a piece of art. He could be the pride of a gallery, lit up under a soft yellow spotlight.

After arriving at Louis and Zayn's flat (it will always be Zayn's home, even though his closet is empty and his bed cold), Louis had led Harry to his bedroom and without a word, Harry had shucked off all but his briefs before sliding under the covers. He hadn't asked Louis to join him, just curled up like a child with a stomach ache and watched with luminous eyes as Louis plopped himself down into the armchair by the window. Within minutes, Harry had fallen asleep, still turned in Louis' direction. It struck Louis that even after everything, Harry could still feel comfortable being that vulnerable under Louis' gaze. He wasn't sure if he had that in himself anymore.

He watches Harry for another half an hour before he falls asleep, head lolling against his shoulder. He doesn’t dream at all that night.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I don't know anymore ~

The morning after rarely ever seems to bring about a fresh start and happy beginnings, and this one is no exception.

Louis is woken up by the sound of someone wanting to be buzzed up to his flat. He gets up off the armchair with a cringe, his neck aching and one leg asleep. He leaves the room quietly, not wanting to wake Harry, and pads out to the front door, where he presses the button and murmurs a soft hello. It's Sam on the other end, asking if he can just come up for a moment. Louis buzzes him up without even thinking because it's his first reaction at the sound of the other man's voice and it only hits him after, how maybe that wasn't the greatest idea.

But the sad smile on Sam's face seems to say that he already knows, somehow. He's holding one of Louis' jumpers over one arm and he hands it over to Louis, who just takes it and lets it dangle at his side. The sight of Sam standing there, hands in pockets and a resigned, knowing look on his face sends a stabbing pain shooting through Louis' heart. He wants to reach out, pull Sam in tightly before asking him to just take him away somewhere, anywhere. _We could get away, just the two of us. You could help me forget about all of this shit. About the man sleeping in my bed right now._

But then Sam is backing away, still smiling that half-smile.

“This is the end, then?” Louis asks.

Sam nods once, eyes soft. “Afraid so, love. Good luck to you, though. Really. I had fun.”

Louis feels a lump form in his throat as he manages to choke out, “Me-me too. Thank you.”

And then Sam is gone and Louis wants to run out after him, reel him back into his irreconcilably messed up life of neediness and detachment. He hadn't loved Sam the way he should've, but Sam had been the only person to look at him with no judgement, no expectations. Without that, Louis' not certain that he can keep his head on straight. He wonders who's going to fill that space now because it seems like everyone else in his life knows him too well and wants more than he can give.

When he finally turns around, he finds Harry standing in the doorway of the living room, still in his briefs but with one of Louis' rumpled shirts on over his thin torso. He has his arms wrapped around himself even though the flat is toasty. He immediately averts his eyes once Louis is facing his way. Louis wants to hate him for having unwittingly run Sam off, but any trace of resentment fades away like passing scenery. He doesn't have the energy in him to feel such strong emotion this early in the morning and with Harry looking so lost.

“Did you love him very much?” Harry asks, his voice rough from sleep.

Louis doesn't want to tell Harry anything about Sam, wants to keep that part of his life locked away. It's nothing personal, really. Well, it is, but no matter who asks that question, he probably wouldn't answer. Louis just drops eye contact and heads into the kitchen without answering. He doesn't have to listen for Harry's footsteps behind him to know that he's being followed; he _feels_ Harry's presence.

“Because if so, I'll go. I'll promise to never come back if it means he … you get him back.”

Louis sets about making tea, trying to ignore the flutter of frustration that unfurls in his gut. Half of him wants to tell Harry that yes, he'll take that option and to please leave, while the other half wants to ask Harry if it'd really be that easy for him to be turned away. That easy for him to just turn his back after getting this far.

Mostly Louis wants to know: whose happiness is really being considered here?

“Just … shut up for a minute, will you?” Louis eventually says, setting a cup down in front of Harry with a little more force than necessary.

Harry nods and wraps his hands around the cup, wincing as his skin comes in contact with the hot ceramic. He looks like a child that has just been chastised. Louis hasn't seen him this way in … he can't really remember, it just seems like a long, long time ago. The Harry he remembers is the Harry that stands up for himself, says things that are just as cutting and hurtful as the things that come out of Louis' mouth. He remembers the Harry that looms over him with cold, green eyes and says, _'we're going to go back to pretending like we don't know each other. Sound good?'_

“If you want to go, then go. Don't make me push you away.”

Louis comes to stand on the other side of the counter from Harry, tries to get him to meet his eyes but the other man seems hellbent on staring down his cup of tea.

“I never said I wanted to go,” Harry says, pulling his full bottom lip between his teeth.

Louis' stomach does a little lurch as he sees that seemingly insignificant move; the image of Harry on his knees in front of him, looking up through his fan of lashes with that lip tucked away between his teeth suddenly comes back to him, hits him like a runaway train.

“So you want to stay?” Louis grabs ahold of his own mug, hoping it'll anchor him somehow as well.

“I … only if you want me to?” It comes out as a question and Harry looks up at Louis with curious, hopeful eyes.

Louis just keeps looking at him for a few minutes, not even thinking about how uncomfortable he might be making Harry. The cogs in his head are turning furiously, but he's only thinking about the decision he's about to make. This is the moment when he chooses: to forgive or not to forgive. This is when he wants somebody else to be there, listing off the pros and cons. Because right now, with only himself as the deciding factor, he feels like he's caught in a tornado, whipped here and there with no chance to get a solid footing.

“I … I don't know,” he stammers, shaking his head.

The hopefulness in Harry's eyes disappears and his lips set in a displeased line as his eyes drop back to the counter.

“I guess I should've expected this,” Harry mumbles, sounding less bitter and more stoic.

“That I wouldn't ask you to stay?” Louis replies, forcing his voice to stay just as flat and calm.

He has to force himself to keep his temper in check because he feels the familiar sensation of panicked rage creeping up his throat, waiting for an opportunity to spring free. He has to lash out to keep himself safe and it's fucking pathetic.

“That you wouldn't … forgive me, I guess?” Harry sighs deeply. “I deserve it, though. I don't know why I thought you might, just like that.”

“I feel like I keep running into you lately. I haven't spoken to you this much in – what - over a year?” Louis shakes his head. “But we haven't talked about it, what happened. And that's why I can't … you know.”

Harry nods, looks up. “Do you want to talk about it now?”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_“You punched him, Lou! Punched him!”_

_Harry is standing in front of him, one long finger pointed at Louis, who is sitting slouched on the couch like a schoolboy being punished. There is a wild fury in Harry's eyes and Louis can barely stand to meet them. He's trembling slightly and he wonders if it's the two shots of rum that he knocked back at Eleanor's before coming home to face Harry or plain fear._

_It's been three days since he's seen Harry. Three days he spent on Eleanor's couch, staring blankly at the telly and fielding phone calls from everyone and anyone, most of them angry and bewildered as to how he'd managed to fuck up so badly._

_“He was kissing you, Harry. I-I was angry!” Louis bursts out._

_He's already coming undone. It already hurts._

_“No, we were kissing each other!”_

_Louis starts shaking his head at that point and doesn't stop, even as Harry rips into him with an uncharacteristic viciousness. Louis just catches scraps of what Harry's saying, catches the worst parts about how he's a fool and how he should've seen this coming and how he's a selfish twat._

_After a solid couple of minutes, Louis can't stand it; either Harry has to stop talking or he'll have to cover his ears to block out the words._

_“Stop, Harry, stop!” Louis yells it, practically screams at the top of his lungs._

_But Harry won't let up, just screeches back, “I can't do this anymore! I cannot keep waiting around for you to stop being such a coward!”_

_“You think fucking other guys is going to make me think 'gee, I should come out to the world, tell everyone how I love Harry fucking Styles'?” Louis is yelling now too, so loud that he's hurting his own ears._

_“I didn't fuck anyone!” Harry says, gasping out an incredulous laugh. “I was drunk and Nick was – he was there, it was a mistake but-”_

_“But what, Harry? But I'm still at fault here? I lost my temper, okay, but most people would've done the same!”_

_“Right, Louis, right! Most people would've resorted to violence!”_

_Harry shoves a hand into his hair and tugs hard, squeezing his eyes closed. Louis gets to his feet but doesn't dare approach the other man. His heart is hammering in his chest; he's not sure if he can move without going into cardiac arrest._

_“Why can't you just let this go? Why can't we just go back to the way things were?” Louis pleads._

_“Because the way things were made me bloody miserable.”_

_Harry is glaring at Louis in a way that he has never, ever glared at Louis. There is genuine hatred in his eyes and it makes Louis breathless with shock. He doesn't want to believe that a reality could exist in which Harry actually feels that way about him. 'I've screwed up, yes, but I did it because I love you! It's always been about you!', he wants to yell but fear chokes him. It seems too late to admit such things now. They're free falling, and it's just too late._

_Harry continues. “You know what everyone's saying now? That you've lost your mind.”_

_“They don't even know what happened,” Louis snaps, panic crawling up his throat. “Who the fuck are they to say that?”_

_Harry just keeps glaring at him, hard and cold. Louis suddenly can't shut his mouth._

_“This isn't even that big of a deal, I don't get it! So I punched someone, worse things could've happened! One of us could've come stumbling out of a club high on drugs or hired a prostitute or something! It's not going to be that difficult to just forget about this!”_

_Even as he says it, Louis knows it's not true. This is different. Their management know about him and Harry. They know that this isn't the same as drug addiction or paying for sex. Those sorts of problems, they can write off to youth gone amok, a couple of bad decisions. But Louis punching a good friend of Harry's in their flat at some godforsaken hour of the night, breaking his nose and then fleeing the scene right after, and not returning to his own flat for days? And not to mention a good friend who people joke has a thing for Harry? No, that speaks of a deeper story, not something that just happened within the blink of an eye._

_“You know what others are saying?” Harry cuts in. “That you're in love with me and you hit Nick because I'm in love with him. That you couldn’t stand it so you snapped and went bloody crazy.”_

_There's a note of sadness in Harry's voice, like he actually believes what he's saying and he's just letting Louis know the facts. Louis wants to know where Harry's gotten this, who these 'others' are. Fans? Media? Friends? But that's not really what bothers Louis. That's not what strikes a chord._

_“We both know that's not true,” Louis says, voice low in warning. “You're in love with me, not Nick.”_

_“Am I, Lou?”_

_Louis is storming to the front door within seconds, hand outstretched for the doorknob as panic gives way to numbness. He knew before coming that he'd made a mistake, but it's all hitting him now - maybe this is a mistake he can't bounce back from. His eyes are stinging but he forces control over himself because he just … can't. He cannot stand there in front of Harry and cry like the broken person that he is._

_Louis has always had an enormous amount of pride and although he's always shown the most vulnerability around Harry, this is not the time. It always seems like he's the one leaving, but in truth, it's always him that gets pushed out. He feels like he's always the one being forced to the edge with no choice but to jump. He's just given no other option when it comes down to it._

_In the end, Harry has the last word, deals the death blow that has Louis stumbling out of the flat with searing tears running down his cheeks. This feels like bad deja vu._

_“I don't ever want to see you again.”_

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You said you weren't in love with me.”

Harry shakes his head, closes his eyes and Louis is spared from those searching green orbs that seem to burn right into him.

“Of all the messed up things I said, that was the one thing I regretted saying the most.”

Harry's eyes open and he stares at some point on the wall behind Louis. The silence drags on; Louis has no idea what else to say next. After months of rehearsing such a conversation in his head, he finds that it's of no help. Now that Harry is here, willing to talk, he's at a loss for words.

“Nick and I, we … nothing ever happened between us,” Harry murmurs.

This comes as a bit of a surprise. “Not even after?”

“No. I ended up cutting him out of my life, too. I tried. I tried to see if he could maybe - I don't know - fix me? Replace you? But he just reminded me of how everything went to shit so I just stopped answering his calls and texts.”

Louis wants to get some sort of sick pleasure out of knowing that Nick never ended up getting Harry, but he just feels inexplicably sad. Another relationship ruined. He still doesn't like the older man, but he can't say that he hates him, really. He'd kept quiet about the whole Louis-breaking-his-nose debacle, never telling a soul about the details, and for that Louis is grateful. But regardless.

“You and Rhiannon, then?”

“I was so angry at you for the things you said back in that bar in New York. I wasn't thinking straight.”

Harry pushes his hand through his hair, leaves it even more tousled. It tugs at a deep part of Louis' heart that he'd thought might be dead.

“Sam … he was my revenge, too,” Louis admits.

He knows that Sam ended up meaning a lot more to him than that. But that's the past, Sam's gone, and there's no use in wondering what might've been between them. He'll just file away the blonde-haired uni student with the easy sense of humor and talented hands in his drawer of memories, take him out once in a while when he's feeling nostalgic.

“I didn't apprehend you in that club just because you … you know, came out,” Harry admits, quirking his mouth up in a weak half-smile. “I saw you with Sam and that just … it made me think of when you were still dating Eleanor and how it'd burn me up, seeing you with somebody else.”

“Eleanor and I were close friends, nothing more. You always knew that. From the very beginning I made it clear.”

“But it doesn't matter, Lou. I still had to see pictures of you two. I still had to hear you talk about her during interviews. You still called her your girlfriend. The truth didn't matter.”

Before he can think about it, Louis leans across the counter and takes one of Harry's hands in one of his own. He squeezes it, reveling in the touch of skin, the exchange of heat.

“I was just so scared, Haz. I know now that the fans would've accepted us but back then … I wasn't ready.”

Harry's eyes light up and Louis wonders if it's because he'd initiated the physical contact, or admitted the truth, or maybe because he'd called him 'Haz' again.

“I pushed you too hard. I didn't realize until it was too late that pushing people away doesn't bring them closer. It doesn't work that way.”

Because he can't think of anything else to say, Louis just says the truest thing that comes to mind,which is: “We both made mistakes.”

“Do you, uh, think things are, you know … fixable?” Again, Harry looks hopeful and doesn't even try to hide it the way Louis would've.

If there's anything Louis has learned in his short life, it's that showing people hope is giving them the upper hand, allowing them to hurt you. No need to give a person a gun or a knife or any weapon necessary to wound. Giving them your hope is enough. The scars last longer. Which is why Louis hates Harry for putting that sort of blind faith in him.

“I suppose,” Louis says slowly, “but I mean … what's 'fixed' to you?”

“Well, nothing will ever be the same again, obviously,” Harry says with a huff, “but maybe … I don't know, we could try again? Us?”

Louis blinks at Harry for a few moments, digesting his words. He's slightly taken aback by the honesty of Harry's words, how he doesn't even attempt to veil what he wants. Louis wonders if he's been affected by the past in a way that Harry hasn't, because he's not sure if he could ever say what just came out of the other man's mouth. It makes him physically ache to think about saying that much without any guarantee of the other person's cooperation.

“Maybe … maybe we won't jump right into anything, yeah? We'll just … test the waters?”

It's a cowardly response but Louis can't offer any more than that, and although disappointment flashes through Harry's eyes, he nods and forces a smile.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm in bed feeling ill so I thought, why not just post the rest of this story? (I got your hint, commentor (; ) This chapter is about as smutty as it gets, so forgive me for completely botching it. I love you all for reading this.

The first time the others see Harry and Louis together, they cry. 

Or more accurately, Liam starts crying in that way of his, getting all red-nosed and weepy as he desperately scrubs tears off his cheeks. Niall just grins and shakes his head; it's not clear to who, probably everybody. Zayn hangs back a bit, smiling a little with his eyes trained on Louis, gauging his reaction to everything. Louis and Harry had decided to wait another day before asking the other three to stop by. They'd spent the day on the couch after their talk, catching up and discussing touchy subjects as carefully as possible without leaving things out. Harry had spent the night in Louis' bed again and Louis in Zayn's, although he'd been convinced that he could hear Harry's thoughts through the wall all night. He hadn't gotten a wink of sleep.

“I knew you two would work things out eventually,” Liam says as he wraps his arms around both of them, pulling them snugly against him. 

Harry chuckles fondly and reciprocates the hug, but Louis just lets his forehead fall against one of Liam's shoulders and says nothing. He's been hovering about in a haze all day, continuously surprised every time Harry comes into his line of sight. He still can't fully believe that Harry is in his life again, and not punching him or ignoring him or shooting him dirty looks but actually _smiling_ at him.

Niall is next, throwing his arms around their shoulders and squeezing them too hard, as if he's letting out some of his pent-up anger at the same time that he's showing his love. Then Zayn's next, wrapping Louis up in a tight hug and murmuring, _'we'll talk'_ , before releasing him to give Harry a hug as well, albeit a stiffer one that says he hasn't forgotten. Louis can't remember the last time they'd all been together like this. At the same time that it makes him want to grin and laugh and announce his relief to the world, it feels a bit wrong, like this is all a dream and he's about to wake up to the stark reality of an empty apartment and shattered relationships. None of this feels solid.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

While Harry, Liam and Niall chat in the kitchen, Zayn pulls Louis into the hallway to talk.

“Two weeks without me was just too long, was it?” Louis whispers coyly, raising an eyebrow. “Pulling me into darkened hallways so we can be alone … what makes you think it's just that easy to win me back?”

Zayn just rolls his eyes and sighs in a long-suffering way. “Yes, Lou, I almost _died_ without you.”

Satisfied, Louis nods and smiles genuinely. “How's Perrie, then?”

“Good, good. She's lovely.” 

Zayn can't hide the happy sparkle in his eyes and it makes Louis want to squeal or jump up and down or something. Because all the guilt he's carried around for practically breaking Zayn and Perrie up has eased a bit, now that they're working things out. He's also missed the peppy, quirky blonde who could keep up with the boys effortlessly (he faintly remembers stumbling out of an American bar with her one night a couple years ago, screeching in laughter over how Liam had taken one shot of tequila and then subsequently coughed half of it out his nose).

“I'm happy for you, mate,” Louis says, reaching out to squeeze Zayn's shoulder.

“Thanks.” Zayn shrugs and ducks his head a bit to hide his grin. 

“But really, is there a reason we're standing here?” 

Their eyes meet and all of a sudden, Louis is taken back to the day Zayn had showed up at his house in Doncaster after the epic fallout of One Direction. He'd refused, at first, to come down to greet his friend but then his mum had forcibly removed him from his self-imposed exile, marching him down the stairs like he was ten again. Zayn had been standing at the bottom, staring up at Louis with the most sincere show of emotion on his face in the history of ... well, ever. He'd looked wrecked. Which had been understandable, seeing as Louis'd stopped eating regularly and hadn't shaved in roughly a week, making him look more and more like the survivor of a shipwreck.

Right now, Zayn is looking at Louis with the same uninhibited concern. 

“You and Harry, then … you're okay?”

Louis hesitates. “I don't really know.”

“You talked, though?”

“Yeah, a good bit. But it still doesn't feel … right, I guess? Like we're just pretending like everything's cleared up when nothing really is.” 

Louis feels utterly shit saying it, because he know he sounds whiny and dramatic. They'd discussed so much, had gotten so far. What more was he hoping for, exactly? 

“That's fair, Lou,” Zayn says, and this time it's his turn to reach out and squeeze Louis' shoulder. “You can't be expected to be okay right away.”

“But when is that going to happen? What has to happen before I feel like thing's are resolved?” 

An edge of panic creeps into Louis' voice and Zayn quickly detects it. He grabs both of Louis' shoulders and meets his eyes in a steady, reassuring gaze that has Louis' heart rate going down gradually. 

“Lou, I don't know. There's no such thing as a set time for stuff like that.” Zayn drops his hands, backs up a little bit. “Just see how things go. You don't have to go back to the way things were with him. You could just try being friends, you know?”

He turns and heads back into the kitchen, leaving Louis just as conflicted as before, if not more so.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That night, Harry and Louis find themselves in an empty flat again. 

Zayn's gone back to Perrie's with the promise that he'll come back for good within a couple of days, while Liam and Niall have also gone home to their respective flats. Louis had said good-bye to the three men with a good deal of apprehension, suddenly faced with the fact that he'd be alone with Harry again. He'd almost begged Zayn to stay, but he'd kept some semblance of dignity and had stayed quiet. The sound of the door clicking shut felt like a death knell for Louis.

Neither of them know how it came to be, this mutual agreement that Harry would stick around at Louis', but it did, and so it's not questioned when Harry heads to Louis' room for the night. They just exchange quiet good-nights and it's only after Harry's disappeared that Louis feels like he can breathe. He nearly sinks into the couch, he exhales so hard. There had been some tension that night with all five of them together, but there'd been more laughter and easy banter and teasing. Despite the feeling that it was temporary, it _had_ been enjoyable for Louis. Even if it might end, it didn't mean he couldn't appreciate it before it did.

“Lou?” 

Louis snaps out of his thoughts and looks over his shoulder to see Harry hovering in the doorway, wearing only his boxer briefs and a loose, thin t-shirt. His tattooed collarbones are on full display and he reaches up to rub at them like he's just as overly aware of their presence. Louis tears his eyes away and drags them upwards, to Harry's.

“You alright?”

“I can't sleep.” 

Louis gets to his feet, walks past Harry as he heads towards the kitchen.

“I might have some sleeping pills or something,” he murmurs as he starts opening up cupboards, knowing quite well that he does, seeing as there was a time in the not-so-distant past when sleep came stubbornly for him.

“I don't need pills,” Harry pipes up. “Could you maybe … stay with me tonight?”

Louis stops in mid-search, freezing with his head half inside a cupboard. He just stands there for a moment, turning Harry's words over and over in his head. Stay with him tonight? In bed? Together? 

“Oh, erm ...” 

Louis backs out of the cabinet and turns to look at Harry, who's got his arms wrapped around himself, like he's trying to hold it all together. He gives Louis a shaky, uncertain smile and that's what does it for Louis. He'd forgotten how difficult it is to deny this Harry anything. This Harry who shows the cracks in his self-confidence and wears his vulnerability on his sleeve.

“Okay, then,” Louis eventually replies, gesturing at Harry. 

He follows the younger man down the hall and into his bedroom, not turning on the light because he doesn't want to see Harry's face and whatever expression it's wearing. He doesn't need another kick, he's already down. Maybe not completely, but far enough that he'd have to scramble for some sort of support to get back up. His heart is racing in his chest and it feels like he's about to have his first kiss again. But he refuses to touch Harry, let alone kiss him because he is _not_ ready for that again. No. He has a bit of resolve left.

“It was nice seeing everyone together again,” Harry mumbles as he slides under the covers. His green eyes are dark in the dim light coming through the window.

Louis mimics his actions and gets into bed on the right, which has always been his designated side. Yet he still feels insanely awkward in his own bed. He can't help but think back to all the times they'd shared sleeping space when they'd lived together, sliding under the sheets in sync like they were married. His heart sort of hurts for the younger versions of themselves, even though it'd only been a little over a year ago since. They hadn't had any clue what would happen.

“Yeah, it was nice,” Louis replies, muffled as he pulls the comforter up to his chin. 

He makes the fatal mistake of looking over at Harry; immediately their eyes meet, drawn together like magnets. He knows he's done, that there's no hope of getting out of this one long before Harry rolls over and kisses him. Again, it feels like destiny or fate has caught up to him. It's a firm press of the lips and Harry's obviously waiting for Louis to respond, which he does quite a bit sooner than he'd expected of himself. The kiss turns heated and then Harry's nipping at his bottom lip, his tongue smoothing over the bite and asking to be let in. Louis consents, parting his lips. Their tongues dance around each other and it feels like they're relearning the curves of the other's mouth, the way it feels to be connected in that way again.

Louis isn't prepared for any of this. He's a bit terrified, actually, but he's also unwilling to let things end. He's been waiting for this to happen for what sees like forever, however hard he's tried to stifle that desire. He grabs onto the hem of Harry's flimsy shirt and breaks their kiss momentarily to yank it up and off, Harry letting him do so without a squeak of protest. Harry's eyes are now oddly emerald in the little light present and Louis wants to look away or close his own eyes because those green orbs see too much, always have been. 

Harry starts to unbutton the shirt Louis' been wearing all day, uncovering the smooth expanse of chest that he doesn't hesitate to lay his palms over. He pulls his lips away and sits up, straddling Louis.

“I almost forgot how you look naked,” Harry mumbles, running his hands across Louis' clammy skin.

It should be funny, those words, but the way Harry says them makes them sound sad, like he's telling a story with a tragic plot line. Louis closes his eyes and bites down on his lip, telling himself to keep it together. If his heart keeps beating any harder he'll probably splinter into a thousand little pieces. He doesn't want to admit that the real reason why he feels like he's about to explode is the overwhelming emotions coursing through him, filling up all the spaces that were empty before: love mingled with dread. 

He loves Harry desperately and to the point that it's unbearable and it scares him. But with Harry half-naked on top of him, it's easy to ignore the forewarning.

“Then get me naked,” Louis demands in a whisper. 

Harry takes no time in respecting Louis' wish, reaching down to unbutton and unzip his jeans (which is when it dawns on Louis that he'd actually gotten into bed wearing them, he'd been that nervous), then sliding down further to pull them off. He tosses them carelessly to the floor and then crawls back up to lay another kiss on Louis' lips. He pulls away quickly though, leaving Louis craning his neck upwards to try and keep the kiss going. Harry's thin, nimble fingers dip under the waistband of Louis' briefs and he has to clamp down onto his own lip in order not to moan out right then and there. He's missed this so badly that he wonders how he'd gone on so long without it, whatever 'this' is. It's more than sex, that much Louis knows. He had sex before, and it didn't feel this … _insane_.

“Is this going to happen, then?” Harry asks, and it's just too much talking for Louis.

He reaches up, pulls Harry towards him by the back of the neck. 

"Probably.”

He uses all of the force in his body to roll Harry over onto his back, switching up the positions. He's afraid of halting for even a second because there's a good chance one of them will have a sudden burst of clarity and realize that this could royally fuck everything up even more. He's mostly afraid because he knows it'd probably be him. Because he's already sort of realized it. Harry lets out a quiet murmur as Louis latches onto his neck, sucking a bruise into the pale skin. He's not sure if he's trying to mark Harry or if he's letting out of some of his suppressed anxiety by being a bit rough, but either way, it happens. He continues down Harry's body, kissing and licking the smooth plane of skin. 

At some point, he's faced with the daunting task of Harry's cock, which is still hidden away in Harry's briefs. He's had a good bit of experience with it before, but he uncovers it now with hesitance. He feels Harry's eyes burning into him so he acts a bit bolder, yanks down the briefs and allows the erection to pop into view. Harry lets out a groan and Louis can't stand how it sounds, so he just focuses on what's before him. He licks a stripe up the under side of Harry's cock slowly, gripping it tightly in one fist. He wants this to be over quickly at the same time that he wants it to last; he doesn't want to enjoy this as much as he knows he will. He hollows out his cheeks and sucks Harry into his mouth, trying to block out the sound of his name coming out of Harry's mouth. He concentrates on the rhythmic bobbing motion, the heat of Harry that he engulfs with his own. 

“Lou. _Louis_ , stop.” 

Harry slides a shaky hand into Louis' hair and as gently as he can, pulls him off. Their eyes meet and Louis wonders if Harry has come to the same realization that he himself went in with, but all he sees is a hunger in the other man's eyes that nearly unhinges him. 

“I want you so badly it hurts,” Harry says with a bewildered shake of the head. 

Louis just nods and he makes his way back up to Harry's mouth, pressing his wet lips against it. They kiss for a bit longer, slower this time. They both know what's next, what's going to inevitably happen if they're to keep going with this. Surprisingly, it's Louis who takes the final plunge. He literally cannot handle this any longer. He's tearing at the seams. He reaches over to his bedside table, ignoring Harry's labored breathing underneath him, and roots around in the drawer. He pulls out a bottle of lube and a foil-wrapped condom, and lays them on Harry's chest. 

“Okay, then?” he murmurs, and Harry nods.

There are no discussions about who's going to top and who's going to bottom but it's unspoken; they revert back to what they've always known and it's Louis who whimpers as Harry opens him up with careful fingers, it's Louis who squeezes his eyes shut as he feels Harry inside of him again, it's Louis who looks up into green eyes that keep asking him silently if he's okay. It feels like his lungs have stopped doing their job at first, but then he's saying Harry's name in a choked sob as the other man speeds up his thrusts. They've never been obscenely loud during sex but they're almost quiet this time, their moans hushed and muffled. They bury their faces into each other's necks, try to stifle whatever threatens to escape their mouths.

Whatever they're doing, it's fragile. 

“Oh god,” Harry says right before he comes, his mouth warm and wet against Louis' shoulder. 

Louis' not far behind, digging his nails into Harry's back as he spills between them. Harry lets out a groan of pain but doesn't move, just lets Louis etch half-moons into his skin. He collapses on top of Louis and the older man wraps his arms around him, pulling their bodies flush against each other. They fall asleep like that but Louis wakes up sometime later, gently rolls Harry off and goes into the bathroom to wash up. He brings back a towel and cleans Harry up with caution, not wanting to wake up the peacefully sleeping man (he looks like a boy, really, as he sleeps). 

He doesn't know what he'd say to Harry if he did wake up, and he doesn't want to take any chances.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He ends up spending the rest of the night on the couch, curled up in a corner of it with his arms around his bent legs. Around six in the morning he buckles and calls up Zayn, who doesn't answer, of course. He calls up Eleanor next, and she answers after a few rings. Louis can hear a man's voice grumble something in the background and he wants to ask her who the man is, if he's treating her right, but he knows that she wouldn't want that.

“So it happened then?” Eleanor asks over the sound of a door clicking shut in the background.

“Depends on what you mean by 'it',” Louis replies, failing at injecting some humor into his words.

Eleanor let's out a sigh, which seems to be the common response to just about everything Louis says or does these days. 

“If you're going to call me at six in the bloody morning, don't talk in riddles.”

“I'll have you know, you were my second choice. Zayn didn't answer.”

“What a surprise. And are you trying to get me to hang up?”

“Oh, El, you know you'll always be my first choice,” Louis says with a soft laugh, only half-joking.

Eleanor returns the laugh and he can imagine that familiar, sweet smile spreading across her face. 

“First choice after that curly-haired bloke sleeping in your bed right now, you mean.”

“What am I going to do with him?” Louis groans. “I have no bloody idea what to do.”

“First off, he's not a stray dog, Lou. Second of all, isn't this what you wanted?” 

The second comment is said softer, like she's dealing a death blow. Which it sort of feels like because yes, this is what he wanted. But somehow it feels like he shouldn't be happy that he's gotten it. 

“I suppose. But then I think about it and it doesn't … I keep thinking that it'll fall apart, like there's no chance we could ever be okay again.” 

“You're worrying yourself too much, Lou. You're going to ruin everything by thinking like that.”

“I can't help it!” Louis says, a bit too loudly, and he immediately lowers his voice. “I'm so used to fighting with him and trying to forget everything about him that it's weird, trying to do the very opposite.” 

“I can't really imagine how much you love him and I don't think anyone can, not even you, so you just need to trust yourself, okay? And trust him. Because I think you're underestimating how much he loves you, too.”

After he and Eleanor end their call, Louis sees that he's gotten a text from Zayn, and opens it curiously. It just says: _'dont ever call me this early again i will kill you.'_ He just laughs, tosses his phone onto the coffee table and stretches out on the couch to get a couple more hours of sleep.


	15. Chapter 15

When Louis wakes up, it's to the familiar sound of pots and pans in the kitchen.

He gets shakily to his feet, wincing (it takes him far too long to attribute the soreness of his ass to the rigorous sex he and Harry had had the night before). He walks to the kitchen and watches silently as Harry putters around, digging through the fridge and searching through cupboards. He's wearing a pair of Louis' sweats and the t-shirt he'd had on the day before. The scene is the mirror image of so many before; Harry making breakfast in a conglomeration of his and Louis' clothing, humming and looking lost in thought. 

He's breaking eggs over a frypan, his fingers sure and deft. He shimmies his hips a bit to whatever song's running through his head, and the ridges of his spine press against the paper thin material of his shirt. It makes Louis' stomach clench up in desire and he has to close his eyes in order to get himself under control. His eyes open when he hears Harry begin to sing, that melodic voice raspy in the quiet of the kitchen.

_“I'm out of touch, I'm out of luck. I'll pick you up when you're getting down. And out of all these things I've done, I think I love you better now. I'm out of sight, I'm out of mind...”_

Before Louis' mind can catch up, there are tears springing into his eyes and he's heading blindly to the bathroom. He sits on the closed toilet lid, pressing squares of toilet paper to his eyes as he cries. He'd spent so many hours playing back his old life with Harry in his head in the past year, trying to remember how happy they'd been together. All the mundane aspects of daily life had seemed thrilling to them back then; it felt like they were doing things they weren't supposed to, which was true, in some ways. But he'd always wrapped up those daydreams with the reminder that he'd lived out those memories once and now they were in the past. 

It's glorious, exciting, shocking, unbelievable that Harry is back in his life again. But it's also terrifying and threatening and Louis' not sure that he knows how to act in the face of this development. Maybe Harry will be marvelous and determined to make things work, but what if he can't be the same for Harry? What if he crumbles, gets too scared that he'll get sucked back into the overwhelming vortex that characterizes their love? A love like theirs, it's volatile and erratic, never tame or predictable. 

It goes deeper than the exterior. They do the things that other couples do but there's more, always more. That's the way it was before. That's the way it'll always be. Louis will always be furiously jealous of any person who tries to squeeze their way into Harry's heart, Harry will always demand too much out of Louis because he knows he can. They will always push each other to the very edges of their comfort zones, testing how strong the other's love is. They shouldn't have to but they do. They fell in love under unfortunate circumstances, doomed from the start. There always has to be the reassurance that one did not back out of the relationship when the other wasn't looking. 

Some might call it unhealthy, and maybe it is. 

But to Louis, it's never been anything but _them_. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Harry finds him, Louis' still in the bathroom but he's moved from the toilet to the bathtub. He's sitting on the bottom of it, letting the hot water come down on him. His head is resting on his bent knees and his hair is plastered onto his forehead, making it difficult to see as water runs into his eyes. He's certain that he's completely lost it. This is it. He's gone off the deep end and there's no going back. If Harry isn't already having second thoughts, then he will after seeing this. 

He can feel Harry's eyes on him, staring through the mist and the glass door. Louis slumps further into himself, wishes he hadn't accidentally broken the lock that one morning trying to get in after Zayn took over his bathroom. 

“Lou, how about we get you out, yeah?” Harry says, sounding unsure.

He slides the door open and reaches in to turn the water off, casting them into silence. The next minute is taken up by Harry helping Louis out of the tub and wrapping a towel around him, neither of them uttering a word. Louis can feel the tension rolling off of Harry in waves. He's rubbing at Louis' skin a little too roughly with the towel and his eyes aren't saying much, that's how Louis knows. He wants to say he's sorry but he keeps quiet. Once done, Harry leaves the room and Louis' confused as to what he's supposed to do. Follow? Stay? Has Harry left or will he come back? A couple of minutes later, Harry returns with a pile of clothes and leaves them on the counter, disappearing again without a word.

Once changed, Louis heads back out to the kitchen. Harry's there, staring out the window over the sink. His hands are clenching the edge of the counter and his shoulders are set rigidly, like a soldier marching into battle. Louis stops a good distance behind him, fidgets. He doesn't know if it's okay to say something, if he should bring up what's just happened. _'I've just lost it a bit, Haz, don't mind me.'_ He feels the need to explain but how can he? He doesn't even know what's going through his own head or why he feels the way he does. It's laughable to think that he'd be able to put it all into words.

“Have I done something?” Harry asks.

Louis stares at Harry's back, at the way the other man drops his head. It looks kind of like defeat. 

“No,” Louis says, “you haven't. It's me.” He winces, hates himself for sounding so cliché. 

“Do you not want me here? Is it making you upset?” Harry turns, but he's still looking down. 

“You're not making me upset. I'm making myself upset. I'm freaking myself out. I … I can't explain it.” 

“I'm … this isn't easy for me, either, Louis. We need to talk this out. Otherwise, everything will just go to hell.” 

Louis nods in agreement, but it's not enough. “I just don't know, Harry. I got so used to not having you and now … I don't know if I'll ever get used to it again.” 

Harry looks up at this, eyes glowing with an unnameable emotion. “Are you … are you saying that you don't want to …” He seems unable to finish his sentence, just drops off. 

“This is what I mean,” Louis bursts, desperate to explain himself, to put the blame on himself, “this is all me. You've done nothing wrong. I just can't … I see you doing the things you used to do when we were together and instead of being happy I just feel like it's not going to last, it's just temporary, that nothing will ever last.”

Harry lets out a choked sob and he covers his face with both hands. It's his turn, Louis thinks distantly. They were both heading for this. It was Louis, of course, who'd driven them to it. It's always him. It's always his fault. It's dawning on him. He just keeps ruining things and at what point does it become too much? At what point will everyone around him get fed up and leave? 

“I'm always the one,” Louis says, a lump forming in his throat, “I'm always the one who fucks everything up. I'll just keep doing it. Over and over and -”

“I get it,” Harry says, nearly shouts, “ _I get it!_ ”

He pushes himself away the counter and brushes past Louis, barreling towards the front door. He doesn't even grab his stuff, doesn't change out of Louis' sweats. He just crams his feet into his shoes and storms out, slamming the door behind him. The sound of his departure seems to echo around the flat, accusatory. _Now you've done it._

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He calls Liam first that night, but the other man hasn't heard from Harry all day. Louis tries to act nonchalant, like he's just curious, not filled with anxiety. Liam sounds suspicious but doesn't push Louis for details, just says good-bye and hangs up first. Niall is next, but he hasn't heard from Harry all day, either. Surprisingly, it's Zayn who has answers. 

“Yeah, he called me this afternoon,” Zayn says, and he sighs. “He's back at his flat.”

Louis clenches the phone tighter. “He didn't call Liam or Niall.” 

“He didn't want to worry them.”

There are a few moments of silence before Zayn speaks again.

“I think what he meant was that he knows I won't get angry at you the way Liam or Niall would. He knows I'll always side with you.”

“So you're not angry at me?”

“I didn't say that.” Zayn means it to be teasing but his next words are grim. “I told you not to rush yourself, Lou.”

“I know. But I did.”

“Harry said that you told him you'd end up fucking things up. Is that how you really feel, or did you just say that to let him down easy?” There's no judgement in Zayn's voice despite the way he words his question, and for that, Louis is thankful. 

“I meant it. I've always thought that. I've just now come to realize it, I think. I've been angry at him all this time because I've known from the start that it was my fault. I was the one who wanted to keep us a secret. I was the one who 'dated' Eleanor. I was the one who punched Nick. I was the one who left One Direction and ruined it.”

It hits Louis even harder, saying it. Hearing himself vocalize his fears feels like the equivalent of punching himself in the gut. On the other end, all he hears is Zayn's steady breathing. He focuses on it, the soft inhalation and the controlled exhalation. 

Zayn lets out a laugh. “You're a bloody idiot.” 

Louis can't help but smile. “Thanks.” 

“You really are, though. First of all, nobody can blame you for wanting to keep things a secret. Management was basically forcing you two to keep quiet. Harry was being foolish, thinking things would work out perfectly. He knew about Eleanor from the start, he knew that she was just a safety net. And punching Nick was a bit stupid, yeah, but other people have done worse after finding their boyfriend snogging somebody else.” Zayn takes a deep breath. “As for One Direction … I want to say that we didn't blame you. We blamed both of you. But your life is your life, Lou. You don't have to do anything you don't want to. You had every right to leave. I read a quote from this book, once. 'The only thing you have to do in life is die', or something like that. It's true.”

Louis can't speak for a full minute, just lets Zayn's words sink in. He wants to believe him and maybe he does, a bit. Maybe he needed someone to lay it out for him, totally and honestly. 

“You've always been way too smart, you know that? People underestimate you.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Zayn chuckles. 

“When are you coming back?” Louis asks, a tinge of whininess in his voice. “I love Perrie and all but I miss my husband.”

“Lou.”

“Do you remember that time you took care of me when I came down with the flu? And then when you sprained your ankle trying to jump rope with my sisters I did the same for you? Do you remember, Zayn?” Louis' being ridiculous, he knows it, but he misses this easy banter with his best mate. 

“Yes, I remember.” Zayn's trying to act immune to Louis' weirdness but there's definitely amusement bubbling up under the surface of his cool demeanor. 

“I've been sleeping in your bed, you know. Keeping it warm for you. Marking your pillows with my scent. Imagining you in it with me ...”

“Christ, stop it,” Zayn bursts out, unable to hold back a laugh. “I'll be home tomorrow.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As promised, Zayn comes homes the next day.

Around noon, he drags in his duffel bag and tosses it onto the couch. It's half unzipped and when Louis peers in for no other reason than out of curiosity, he sees that all the clothing is unfolded and jumbled, much like it was when Zayn left the flat in a frustrated rush. For someone who prides himself on his appearance, it's surprising how unconcerned Zayn is about the state of his clothing. It gets to the point where he'll come into Louis' room on occasion, grab a shirt and say, _'All my clothing is on the floor, that means I've got nothing left to wear.'_

“What, did Perrie just let you toss everything back in?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow at Zayn. 

Zayn shrugs. “Yeah, she said it doesn't matter because I just end up looking like I've rolled out of bed, anyway. Part of my appeal and everything.”

“You both share an astounding sensibility,” Louis says, shoving the bag onto the floor and plopping onto the couch. 

He feels collected and capable now that Zayn's back. It's only been five minutes or so since his arrival, but already it seems like the world is more manageable. He doesn't want to admit it, but he'd spent most of last night curled up in his bed, hugging the pair of jeans Harry had left behind as he tried to fall asleep. He'd drifted off eventually, but only to dream about playing with one of those One Direction dolls that looked like him with Harry, who'd had his own look-a-like doll. Harry had ended up shoving Louis' doll headfirst into the garbage disposal while saying, ' _Your doll is going to the disco without mine, Louis, he's very hurt.'_ Needless to say, Louis had woken up deeply disturbed by his own mind. Also, it made him hate the company that decided to produce those dolls even more. 

“So, how're you feeling?” Zayn asks, sitting down next to Louis.

“Oh, fine,” Louis replies too quickly, shrugging one shoulder. He's fine. _Fine._

“Right, want to tell me the truth, then?” 

“Not really, no. I had an awful nightmare last night about dolls and I'm still trying to recover.” 

“Okay, I've missed the old Louis who can make anything into a joke, but now isn't the time. We need to discuss this.” 

“Right.” Louis sighs. “I don't know how much Harry told you, but I drove him out, basically. He ran out of here like he was on fire.”

“He didn't tell me a lot. Just gave me the basic information,” Zayn says. “Said you were a bit worried about everything.”

Louis frowns, confused. “He said that? That I was worried?”

“No,” Zayn admits, “he actually said you were going mad. Out of your mind. Talking rubbish.” 

“Sounds more like it.” 

“So what are you going to do now?” Zayn asks after a pause. “Just leave it like this?”

“No, of course not,” Louis says, even though he'd been weighing the possibility of doing just that. “I'll talk to him. Eventually.”

“Lou, listen to me. I've never seen two people as in love with each other than you and Harry. That counts for something, doesn't it?”

“Maybe, but we spent a year – no, over a year now – hating each other. That says something, too.”

“I wouldn't say hate. Angry, maybe? Disappointed?” 

Louis grimaces but he knows Zayn's right. 'Hate' was an easy way to describe the way he and Harry had begun to feel about each other. Easier than having to explain and name the true emotions, anyway. It'd been painful to think that they still loved each other yet were torn apart with no solution in sight. Forgetting about the love that existed between them had just made their separation less difficult. 

“Yeah, you're right,” Louis agrees softly. “I've never hated him. I think I've always loved him too much.”

“It got to be a bit much sometimes, didn't it?” Zayn asks, kindly. 

“I felt like I was suffocating once in a while. I was trying to please everyone and then I ended up letting everyone down in the end.” There's a lump forming in Louis' throat, an all too familiar feeling. 

“Well, you don't have to worry about that anymore. You just need to be happy yourself.” Zayn reaches over, grabs Louis' hand and squeezes. “You need to decide what will make you happiest and just go for it. Stop being so fucking afraid of failure. You won't get anywhere until you do.”

Louis shuts his eyes and nods, gripping tightly onto Zayn's hand. He feels like he should be paying Zayn for all the advice he keeps getting from him, even though he feels like a character straight out of a preteen novel, being coached through life by his best friend. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sometime late that night, Louis' woken up by the sound of Zayn crashing into his room.

He sits up straight in bed, squinting against the light that's coming in from the open door. At first, he's disoriented and not sure if he should be yelling for help, but then he hears Zayn let loose a string of profanity and immediately calms down. He watches, still confused, as Zayn hops up and down on one foot, cursing up a storm. It's only when the other man reaches down and comes back up holding Louis' phone charger in one hand that it makes sense. He'd stepped on the metal plug-in.

“Fucking _hell_ , Louis!” Zayn flings the item across the room, then comes barreling towards Louis, hands outstretched. 

Louis shrieks loudly and holds his pillow up in defense but Zayn just rips it out of his hands and pulls him out of bed, nearly bringing them both down to the ground as Louis' legs get caught up in his blankets. This is all happening too fast for Louis' sleep-fogged brain to process; Zayn never acts this crazy, not even when he's woken up too early. It's like he has actually lost his mind. 

“What are you doing, Zayn? ZAYN!” Louis cowers and tries to back away from his friend, who's breathing like he's just completed a triathlon and then tried racing a cheetah for the hell of it.

At the sound of his own name, Zayn seems to snap back to semi-consciousness. He steps back to give Louis some space but looks at him with wild eyes, made scarier by the fact that the room is dim and his brown eyes seem to glow. He looks terrified, now that Louis can see him up close. 

“It's Harry,” he says, reaching out and grabbing Louis' shoulders. “He's been in an accident.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me. Also, the song that Harry sings is 'Lego House' by Ed Sheeran, for those who are wondering. (:


	16. Chapter 16

They take a taxi to the hospital because neither of them are stable enough to drive.

A few minutes into the ride, Louis realizes he's shaking and so he scoots over to Zayn, who wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him close to his side. There's an abundance of questions running through Louis' head, the biggest one being how did Zayn find out, but he can't seem to open his mouth. All he can do is slump against his best friend and tremble. 

“Liam called,” Zayn says when the bright, glowing lights of the hospital come into view. “He tried you first but it went to voicemail.”

“Phone's dead.” It's a lie; Louis had turned off his phone before going to bed because he'd spent far too much time lying awake staring at it, hoping Harry would text or call him first. 

“He didn't say what sort of accident,” Zayn says, his words coming out quicker as the taxi pulls up to the hospital drop-off. 

Louis gets out of the taxi, waits as Zayn pulls out his wallet and pays. The time it takes Zayn to do so seems to drag on forever, even though it only takes a few seconds for his friend to shove a handful of bills into the driver's hand and scramble out. 

“This always happens,” Louis says once Zayn is at his side and they're heading into the building. “Before anyone can end up happy, something like this always happens.” 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the waiting room, Louis and Zayn join Liam and Niall. They're told that there's no news that can be given to them quite yet, and to just hold on. Louis hasn't spent that much time in hospital waiting rooms during the course of his life, but it's all predictable – the desk nurse who takes the abuse from panicked loved ones, the uncomfortable chairs, the too-bright lights, the doctor that shows up and then disappears just as quickly. It takes all he's got to not lose his mind and start flinging magazines and pamphlets all over the place.

Ten minutes in, Louis breaks. 

“Liam,” he says, leaning around Zayn and Niall to look at the other man, who's flipping through a fashion magazine with a look of confusion on his face. “Liam.”

Liam looks up, but keeps turning pages. “Louis.” 

“What happened? Do you know?” Louis' been dying to find out at the same time that he wants to keep himself from the knowledge. As soon as he finds out, he knows that he'll start imagining Harry in that situation, getting hurt over and over. 

“I was there,” Liam says, dropping his eyes back to the magazine, which has gone still in his hands. 

“What?” Both Louis and Zayn ask. 

“I was there too,” Niall admits hesitantly. 

All sorts of conclusions come to Louis' mind; Harry had tried to kill himself and Liam and Niall had found him, or he'd been making dinner for all three of them and the knife slipped, possibly on purpose, or maybe -

“We went out to a club tonight to cheer Harry up,” Liam begins, bringing Louis back to the present. “He got absolutely wrecked within a couple of hours. He wanted to go home around eleven so Niall and I said we'd ride home with him but he just … he left without us!”

Liam's change in volume startles everyone; he sounds guilty, like he's trying to explain away the blame. Zayn reaches out and puts a hand on his knee, gives him a reassuring smile. 

“So we went out to find him,” Niall continues. “And we saw him trying to cross the street for some reason. Except he didn’t really look, he just walked right out into traffic.” 

At the same that Louis says, “ _What?_ ”, Zayn says, “ _Christ._ ” Both Liam and Niall nod at their reactions as if to say ' _exactly what we thought_ '. 

“He didn't try to kill himself, then?” Louis asks before he can stop himself.

Liam gives him an incredulous look. “I _said_ he'd had an accident.”

Louis nods, falls back into his chair with a shaky sigh. “Right.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Another hour slips by with the four of them saying and doing absolutely nothing, then the doors are swishing open and Anne comes in in a flurry, Gemma at her heels. They rush to the desk nurse, who looks infinitely more sympathetic towards them than she did to Zayn, who had taken it upon himself to become the group's liaison. The four of them watch as the two women hug each other at the desk as the nurse makes a call. It's only when Anne's pulling away from her daughter that she spots them, sitting there staring at them. 

“Boys.” She strides over in a few big steps and immediately throws her arms around Liam, who'd stood up before anybody else and was practically waiting there with his arms already open for her. 

Louis watches apprehensively as she starts making her way down the line towards him, Gemma following after her; he hasn't seen or talked to Harry's mum or sister in a long, long time. He can't imagine what they might think about him. Has Harry told them about recent developments, or has he kept it to himself? He never did find out how the women's opinions had changed about him after he and Harry's fight. It'd always sort of scared him. His own mum had taken a neutral stance, saying she didn't hate or even dislike Harry but that she'd always stick by her son first (at that, Louis had wailed, ' _Bloody hope so, mum!_ ')

By the time Anne reaches Zayn, Louis' broken out into a nervous sweat.

“Louis.” His name falls from Anne's lips in a way that makes him want to burst into tears. She sounds astonished but not angry. He's not sure what he was expecting – a slap maybe, or some harsh words at best.

“Hi, Anne,” he replies weakly, acutely aware of everyone looking at them. 

“Hello, love,” she answers softly before pulling Louis into her arms. Another pair of arms encircles them both as Gemma joins the hug, and Louis doesn't even mind when she reaches up and messes up his hair when they pull apart.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next several hours are spent drifting in and out of sleep, and flipping through the outdated magazines offered.

Niall and Louis count how many times One Direction pops up in the each copy, starting from the oldest and working through to the newest. The number dwindles as the editions get more and more recent; by the time they finish the last copy, which had been published a few months ago, there's only the odd article about whether one of them is dating so-and-so. Besides that, nothing. They're relegated to the gossip columns that aren't exactly touting their star power. However, Niall gets an enormous kick out of one article from an especially seedy tabloid mag that debates whether or not he's prepping for a gender reassignment surgery; their evidence is a grainy photo of him dressed up as Susan Boyle with a wig and everything. They don't mention that it was taken last Halloween. 

“You were fit as Susan Boyle, maybe you _should_ think about making it permanent,” Louis says, causing Niall to burst into laughter. “If you looked like that, we'd make sweet music until the sun rose, if you know what I'm saying -”

It's around then that they both notice the glare Liam is shooting their way and they immediately fall silent. Right. Harry. It's not that he's forgotten about the man lying in a hospital bed after having been mowed down by a car, Louis wants to protest, it's just that there's nothing they can do to make the situation any better so why not keep spirits up? But he doesn't say that out loud because he knows that to everybody else, it'll sound like he's proposing that they all throw a raging party right here in the waiting room, and that is not what he means at all.

Gemma and Anne come back a few minutes later, having taken a much needed breakfast break. Liam and Zayn go next, leaving the other four to keep up the vigil. According to the elusive doctor, Harry's doing fairly well; he's got a nasty concussion, his right arm's broken and he's pretty scraped up, but nothing that won't heal. The only thing that's been of concern so far and what's keeping them from seeing him is some internal bleeding in his kidney region, which they've managed to sort out, or so the doctor says (Louis doesn't really trust doctors, but he doesn't say that out loud either, because the last thing they need is him spewing off some paranoid rubbish). 

Around seven o'clock in the morning, the nurse at the desk finally says they can go in and see Harry, but not all at once. They agree to this condition without complaint because okay, they can be pretty overwhelming all at the same time. So Anne and Gemma go in first as the four of them wait a little longer. The two women come out half an hour or so later, wiping at their cheeks but genuinely smiling. After a quick good-bye they're off to find a hotel and to meet up with Robin, and then the four men make the trek to Harry's room, which proves to be harder than one might think, seeing as they'd all heard the nurse say different room numbers. They spend a solid five minutes in the elevator, pushing buttons and arguing.

To say Louis is nervous about seeing Harry is an understatement. His heart is beating furiously away in his chest as they approach the room, his hands are clammy, and he's not sure if the past seven or so hours have really prepared him for this. He doesn't know what to expect, really; will Harry be all wrapped up and bloody or will he look like he usually does? Will he even be awake? Is he actually in a coma and the doctor hadn't bothered telling them? He's not sure how he should react in any of those situations. He isn't sure if hugging or laughing or crying or screaming or fainting is appropriate. 

He really hadn't needed to worry; as soon as they're in the room, natural emotions take over. Niall is first at Harry's side, with the others not far behind. They all sort of crowd around Harry, who's flat on his back and looking up at them with a dazed smile. He has a bandage on his forehead but there's no blood soaking through or anything horrendous like that. His arm's in a cast and he has all sorts of tubes and things hooked up to him, but all in all, it could've been much worse of a sight (this is Louis' initial thought, which he'll later blame on his unstable emotional state at the time). 

“Harry, you gave us a fucking scare,” Niall says, looking almost admiring. 

Liam, Zayn and Louis all laugh in a way that indicates they're doing so out of courtesy, not because they actually find Niall's comment amusing. Because he had. Harry had given them all some serious scares. Harry just grins crookedly, shrugs as best as he can. Louis wonders what sort of medication he's on, if he even knows that this is real and not just a figment of his drugged up imagination. He also wonders if it'd be weird if he leaned down and kissed Harry because he really sort of wants to.

“What were you thinking, Harry, walking out into the street like that?” Liam asks, voicing the big question. 

They all wait, holding their breaths for some big revelation. Louis' not sure what they're expecting him to say, exactly, but everyone's tensed up around him like something utterly Earth-shattering is about to come out of Harry's mouth.

Instead, he just says, “I reckon I was pretty drunk, yeah?”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A week later, the doctors deem Harry suitably healed enough to be released to outside care.

It becomes a question of where he goes next; he lives alone and clearly can't go back to his own flat unless he has a live-in caretaker, and he doesn't want to go home to Holmes Chapel to be cared for by his mother, which leaves few options. Nobody really knows what caring for Harry entails, or if he even actually needs it (he says he doesn't, but they choose to ignore the person who stepped out in front of a car). In the end, Liam offers to watch over him at his flat at the same time that Zayn offers up his and Louis' place. 

The awkward conversation occurs the night before Harry's set to get out, everyone crowded around his hospital bed. Zayn and Liam suggest their respective flats at the exact same time in embarrassed bursts, causing all five of them to fall silent immediately. Louis gets sucked into the black hole of shock and confusion; why Zayn would offer to house Harry is way beyond his comprehension, unless he'd had a sudden case of brain malfunction, which he occasionally does at inexplicable times (Malibami, anyone?). 

By the time he comes to, Louis discovers that everyone's pointedly staring at him. He glances around self-consciously, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks. 

“What?”

Zayn rolls his eyes, but Liam is kind enough to smile wanly at Louis and explain.

“We just wanted to know if you're okay with you and Zayn taking care of Harry at your flat.”

Louis wants to ask who actually posed the question while he was off in La La Land but he also doesn't want to embarrass himself further by creating more awkward tension, so he doesn't say anything. He just shrugs and puts on a facial expression that says 'yeah, why not?' Everyone seems to heave a sigh of relief at his flimsy response; a few hesitant smiles appear and a general feeling of ease returns. However, glancing at Harry, Louis sees that the other man still looks rather uncomfortable. Louis can't blame him. He can blame Zayn, however.

He spends that night lying awake in bed, imagining Harry living in the flat. Just a week ago he hadn't even known if he'd ever get Harry to talk to him again, let alone have him as a flatmate. He hopes things won't be awkward but he's not a complete idiot and knows that it will be. If he's lucky, Zayn will tap into his closeted maternal instincts and take over the duties of caring for Harry so he can just slink around and hide until Harry leaves. But he also knows that Zayn won't make it that easy for him because the part of Louis that remains objective suspects Zayn's intentions had been far from pure when he'd offered Harry a place to stay.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, Zayn goes to pick Harry up from the hospital while Louis does some last minute tidying up. Which really just means he spends the entire time freaking out while picking things up and then putting them back down in other places they don't belong. By the time the front door opens, Louis is one inch away from tumbling off the ledge of rational thinking. He contemplates doing something absurd like try and escape off the balcony but he really doesn't want to get himself killed so he talks himself out of that one. He can't believe Zayn, he really can't. This is all his fault. 

“We're home!” Zayn's voice calls out cheerfully from the foyer, giving Louis no choice but to show face.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” is what comes out of Louis' mouth, and he can just tell that the other two men are thinking about how big of a ninny he is, if their facial expressions are anything to go by.

Once he manages to wipe the grimace off his face, Zayn smiles too brightly at Louis. He doesn't like when Zayn smiles like that. He used to always do it for certain fan photos, and in magazines when he couldn't get away with doing his ridiculous model smolder. It drips with fakeness and right now is no exception. He steers Harry (who's limping slightly and seems to be in a good amount of pain as Zayn forcibly marches him into the living room) past Louis, leaving him to stand alone in the entrance. He runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath before following the two.

Zayn has already sat Harry down on the couch and is rummaging through a small plastic bag when Louis comes in. Harry is sprawled out in a strange slumped position, his long limbs strewn around as if he'd been tossed onto the piece of furniture like an article of clothing. His eyes are tightly closed and he winces every few seconds. Louis stands uneasily in the doorway, not sure what to do with himself. Zayn turns around with a pill bottle in hand, which he tosses at Louis without a warning. Louis cowers away from it in surprise and it bounces off his shoulder onto the floor. Nobody laughs, nobody makes fun of him. He must be that pathetic, Louis decides about himself.

“Give him two of those with water,” Zayn commands as he heads past Louis to the front door. “I'm going over to his flat to grab some of his things. I'll be back soon.”

And then he's gone, leaving Louis alone with Harry. For a good while Louis just stares at the other man like he's a new electronic gadget that he has no idea how to operate. Harry doesn't seem to notice; he's still laid half-on/half-off the couch with his eyes closed. Without a word, Louis goes into the kitchen and fills a glass with water before returning back to the living room. During his absence, Harry'd managed to pull himself up into a seated position and now looks up at Louis with a blank expression. His eyes are glassy, making Louis wonder if he's in that much pain or if he's conveying hostility. 

“Here,” Louis says, handing over the water, which Harry takes wordlessly. Next, he opens the bottle and shakes out two pills onto his palm, which he also passes over. “Swallow these.”

“I think I know how to take pills,” Harry mumbles before popping the pills into his mouth and washing them down with a large gulp from the glass. 

Louis says nothing, just retreats to the armchair in the corner. He watches as Harry sets the glass down (on a coaster, which he'd never used to do at their shared flat) and then sits back with a shaky exhalation. He has a million questions for the other man, like what hurts and what can he do for him and where are they now in their mixed-up relationship, but he can't seem to make himself speak. They just sit there in mutual silence until Louis' sure Harry's fallen asleep. At some point Zayn comes home and he goes to his bedroom to hide away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I honestly don't know how long it takes for injuries such as the one mentioned to be healed, so forgive me if I screwed it all up. D;


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is, the second to last chapter! I've decided to write an epilogue just to tie everything together. That should be up tomorrow. (:

He hasn't cried _once_ since Harry's accident, and that has been a source of pride for Louis so far.

He's managed to keep his wits together beautifully, facing everything with a brave front. The thing is, Louis knows way in the back of his mind that it isn't bravery that kept him from breaking down earlier. It's more like he'd spent that week Harry was in the hospital in a daze, pretending like nothing was real. He'd just kept telling himself that he'd eventually wake up, that he was making up most of it in his head. Scary situations tend to cause that sort of reaction in some people. It's just easier to deny reality rather than actually confront it. 

Louis breaks out of that fuzzy dreamland the morning after Harry's arrival. He wakes up at five o'clock in the morning to the sound of muffled crying in the room next door. It takes him a couple of minutes to blink himself into consciousness; the room next door is the guest room, where Harry's staying. Louis stays frozen in a plank position, just listening to the sounds coming through the wall. He thinks back on all the times he'd seen Harry cry and each memory is like another shot to the heart. He'd always been there to comfort Harry before. There'd been a time when comforting Harry was a no-brainer, just second nature. He aches at the thought that now, they're in a place where him trying to do so would be unwelcome.

Once he's got a pair of sweats on, Louis pads out into the hallway, trying to stay as quiet as possible. He tiptoes to the door of the guest room and puts his ear against it. Harry's talking to someone and Louis catches the word 'mum' once or twice, cluing him in on the fact that Harry must be on the phone with Anne. Unable to hear very well, Louis gets down onto the floor, lies out flat and tries to get his ear as close as possible to the space under the door. It's five in the morning; his mind is not functioning at normal speed, he tells himself, so he can be forgiven for so blatantly eavesdropping.

“I know, mum,” Harry's saying, his voice thick with tears. “ _I know._ ”

There's a pause as Harry listens to his mum and Louis just breathes out his nose, waiting.

“Liam said I could stay with him, too, but ...” Harry begins crying a bit harder and he has to stop talking in order to take a few stuttering breaths. “I – I don't want to leave. Louis, he – he doesn't talk to me or anything but … I don't want to leave. Not yet.”

Louis bites down on his lips, keeps himself from releasing the noise that's trapped in his throat. 

“I don't know what I'm waiting for,” Harry replies to whatever Anne says, a choked laugh following his words. “I just keep thinking that maybe the pain will go away faster if he's around. Like … just being under the same roof as him will make things better.”

Louis feels the sting of tears spring into his eyes and he pushes himself into a kneeling position, shocked by his own reaction. He wipes at his eyes, tries to erase any trace of emotion. He'd been doing so well. He's about to get to his feet and end this silly little snooping mission, but Harry starts speaking again and he can't help but linger for just a bit longer.

“Yeah.” Harry's voice is breathy now. “It hurts. It hurts a lot, mum.” 

Louis retreats back to his room quickly after that, Harry's words echoing in his head. _It hurts, it hurts, it hurts._ He doesn't know if Harry meant physical or emotional pain, but it doesn't matter because hurt is hurt. He thinks back to the times Harry'd bump into something or get injured somehow, and he'd give Louis a wide-eyed, pouty look and say, ' _I'm hurt, Lou.'_ He'd always expected Louis to jump to his needs, to come to his rescue immediately. And he had. Maybe he'd make a smart remark, but he'd always go to Harry. 

Louis climbs back into bed, the silence from the next room weighing him down like an anchor around his ankles. Big, fat tears roll down his face and wet the pillow beneath his head. He wants to help but how can he when he won't let himself?

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A week later, Zayn hunts Louis down like he's a criminal and forces him to take care of Harry for a couple days while he goes home to Bradford for a visit. 

Louis puts up a fight, pleads for Zayn to take Harry with him but is ultimately shot down. To be fair, Zayn's done most of the care-taking so far. The only times Louis shows his face around Harry is when Zayn goes to work during the weekdays, and even then, all he does is dispense medication to Harry like a nurse (it's not a necessary job but Zayn's convinced that Harry will start abusing the pills so the stipulation for Harry staying at their flat is that he doesn't handle the pain meds himself). Besides that, Zayn's the one who fixes Harry dinner and does Harry's laundry and whatever else Harry can't do without his right arm (the last detail should be funny, but mostly it's just sad watching Harry try to do everyday tasks with his left hand). 

So that Saturday, Louis and Harry bid Zayn farewell and find themselves alone together in the suddenly too-empty flat. Harry goes to the couch where he spends most of his time, although the guest room has technically become his room, and Louis heads into the kitchen to putter around for no good reason. Things haven't been awkward per se, but not much conversation has taken place between them and they mostly just act like strangers around each other. It was nice in the beginning, when Louis had no idea what to expect, but now it's gotten tedious. He wants to talk to Harry, he really does, but anytime he tries to muster up the courage, he just ends up finding an excuse as to why he can't. He's driving himself crazy. 

After about five minutes of just standing in the kitchen turning the faucet on and off, Louis hears the soft strains of music coming from the living room. He turns off the tap and then approaches the door of the kitchen hesitantly, listening. Once he can actually hear the song, he immediately recognizes it. It's one of their songs, off their very first album. Louis knows Zayn's kept a copy of both of their CDs and has stashed them away in places where Louis can't find them, knowing full well that the other man will toss them any chance he can get. Apparently, Harry's found one and is now taking a trip down memory lane. 

Louis stands in the doorway of the kitchen, frozen, as their five voices float down the hallway to him; the hairs rise on the back of his neck and on his arms, like he's listening to ghosts talking in the next room. He wonders what Harry's doing right at that moment; is he just standing there too or is he dancing or is he humming or … Louis feels a lump form in his throat as Harry's young, enthusiastic voice begins to sing a verse over the stereo. He can't imagine the Harry standing in his living room singing like that anymore, free and hopeful. 

The mystery becomes too much for Louis and he moves quietly down the hall and stops at the entrance of the living room. Harry's sitting on the floor with his back against the entertainment center, the CD case in his hands. He's staring down at the picture of the five of them, all smiling and clutching at each other. Louis'd always hated the photo used for their first album. All of their poses look terribly awkward and there's just too much _crotch_ , but it can't be denied that they look happy. Harry's eyes are glued to the case like he's looking at the Mona Lisa, in awe and fixated. 

“I never listen to us anymore,” Louis says before he can stop himself.

Harry doesn't even look up. “Neither do I.”

Louis takes it as an invitation of sorts, and walks over to Harry. He slides down onto the floor next to the other man, nearly touching but not quite. He glances over at the album cover, smiles faintly. There have been nights when he'd stay up for hours, so fucking sad that he can't go back to the beginning, when things had been new and exciting and easy to appreciate. Then there have been other nights when he'd be so glad he's no longer stuck in that cycle of crushing pressure and inadequacy. 

“Listening to us makes me wish I'd never met you,” Harry says softly, laying his palm flat against the CD case and hiding the five of them from view. 

“I wasn't _that_ bad,” Louis jokes weakly.

Harry lets out a small laugh, shakes his head. “You know what I mean.”

“I don't think I do,” Louis replies honestly, causing Harry to look over at him.

“I don't think you realize how much I've missed you.” Harry's eyes are shining with sincerity and it's almost enough to send Louis running. 

A lapse in conversation ensues, and they both just sit there for a bit, turning over words in their head. Louis has so much to say yet none of it seems appropriate in response to Harry's admission. He never seems to have the perfectly right thing to say. 

“What I said, before ...” Louis runs a hand through his hair, nervous. “About fucking things up … I didn't say that to push you away. I said it because it's true.”

“No, you _did_ say it to push me away,” Harry corrects, “but you also thought it was true.”

“Okay,” Louis replies lamely. 

Harry chuckles. “Things have never been easy for us but that's really our faults. We've created most of the obstacles for ourselves.”

And it's true, Louis knows that. Louis'd always thought that a love as strong as his and Harry's wasn't destined to exist without some serious roadblocks, and maybe he'd been scared when there really hadn't been anything they couldn't work through. Maybe he'd always had a nagging conviction that they'd go down with a deafening roar, then be fated to live without each other in the ensuing rubble and silence. Maybe he'd always been resigned to that ending for them. He hates himself for having ever thought that way but at the same time, he feels sorry for himself in a way that has less to do with pity and more to do with empathy. Love is never easy, love is never simple, and no one knows how to deal with it perfectly. 

“I used to imagine us getting married and living in a little town somewhere. You'd be a baker and I'd take care of our kids and maybe play some footie here and there,” Louis says with a laugh. “But at the same time, I was convinced that you'd really just end up marrying a supermodel and I'd marry some nice girl just to make things easy and we'd both have kids and maybe they'd meet once or twice. And we'd just live apart like that.”

It takes a minute or two for Harry to respond.

“That's so fucking sad, Lou,” he murmurs. “That … that just makes me so, so sad.”

“I know.”

Harry reaches over, takes Louis' hand in his good one and clutches it so tightly it almost hurts. They just sit there in the waning light and the heavy silence. It's already past the designated time for Harry to take his pills but he says nothing and the only sign that he's in physical pain is the way his grip tightens around Louis' hand once in a while. 

“You haven't changed much, you know,” Harry says after a while. “Maybe you think you have, but you haven't.”

“Really?” Louis asks without much surprise. “Because after all this time, I still don't understand you at all.”

Harry shrugs. “That's what you've always loved about me, right? I'd always keep you guessing. You could never get bored of me.”

Louis can't help but smile because _fuck_ , Harry knows him too well. “Don't flatter yourself too much, Curly.”

“Are you going to be this stubborn forever?” Harry asks, a hint of humor in his voice. 

“Always,” Louis responds immediately. 

Their eyes meet at some point and they just look at each other, half-smiling and half-dead serious. Their hands are still linked between them on the floor and Louis begins to trace circles on Harry's skin with his thumb. What he's always known hits him hard at that moment; he'd die to protect Harry, and he would've no matter what. Even if their lives had turned out the way he'd always thought they would – them living without each other – he would've still given up everything if it meant Harry remained unscathed. Because even though Harry could be a right twat and maybe doesn't deserve that sort of sacrifice from another human being, it doesn't matter because love rarely listens to reason.

“Can we be stubborn together, then?” Harry asks softly, hesitantly, as if he can _see_ that Louis' guard is down. 

For once, Louis doesn't over think his answer, doesn't scare himself away from what he really, really wants.

“Yes.”

And then he's convinced that the feeling of Harry's lips against his is the absolute best in the world, and that he's made the right decision at last.


	18. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This a shitty epilogue because I wrote it pretty quickly, but I hope it ties everything up nicely. For the commentor who asked if I have a tumblr with other fics - I don't use my tumblr anymore and this is my first full-length fanfic but I've written about five or six chapters of a new AU university fic. It focuses mostly on Ziall but for all you Larry lovers, no fear! Larry is a sideship. I'm going to write a few more chapters for that one and start posting it. Hopefully people like it. 
> 
> But anyway - for those who stuck around to finish this, thank you so, SO much. You have no idea what it means to me. (':

_**Two Years Later** _

Backstage, Louis hums as he tightens the knot of Harry's tie, his eyes focused on the expensive silk fabric beneath his fingers. Harry's eyes are fixed on the man standing in front of him, his gaze taking in the delicate features of Louis' face. It's sappy but he's not ashamed to admit that he could spend hours - maybe even entire days - just looking at Louis. He'd actually said that out loud once, at a dinner party. Niall had given him the most repulsed look while Zayn and Liam broke into laughter. Louis had just grinned at him from across the table.

“There,” Louis says, tucking the tie neatly into Harry's blazer and patting his chest a couple of times.

Before he can step away, Harry grabs Louis' hands and pulls him in for a quick kiss. “Thanks, love.”

Louis returns the kiss and then smiles, one of those genuine ones that doesn't hold any trace of a smirk. It's been a long, long road for them these past few years but they're here, they're okay, and they're both infinitely grateful for that. Every day is an adventure and a challenge rolled into one, but it can't be denied that it's getting easier as the days go on. As Louis said after their last and final break-up a year ago, _“There has to be a point when things become absolutely perfect and simple. We deserve it, anyway.”_ Harry hadn't agreed about the perfect part, seeing as perfection is impossible, but he had agreed that they deserved all the happiness they could possibly get. 

“We should go out to the stage,” Harry murmurs, running his hands over Louis' thin shoulders. “For old time's sake?”

Louis grins, raises an eyebrow. “You're not going to try and lure me into having sex on it, are you?”

“Lou,” Harry says, rolling his eyes, “I am not that perverted.”

They take each other's hands, link their fingers tightly, and meander through the maze of corridors. They pass crew members who wave at them and call out cheerful greetings, and it's almost like they're teenagers again. If he tries hard enough, Harry can imagine being sixteen all over, terrified and excited all at the same time, not knowing that his life was about to take a dramatic series of twists and turns. Louis glances over at him and smiles slightly, as if he can read Harry's mind. But Louis' not thinking that far back; he's thinking about how happy he is that he and Harry had managed to get it together, to finally stop playing the cat and mouse game they'd been sucked into for nearly three years. 

The first time they'd gotten back together, after Harry's accident, they'd stayed together for ten months before Harry dropped the bombshell that he was moving to Los Angeles for an undetermined amount of time to work on his music career. By then, Louis had moved into Harry's flat and Zayn had moved in with Perrie. Harry had asked Louis to come with him so they could rent a place together, but Louis had flat out refused. England was his home, he'd told Harry. He couldn't leave all of his friends and family. And so Harry had left and a few days later, Louis'd called him to tell him that they were done, he couldn't do long distance and he was tired of waiting around. Two months later, marking a year since their big reconciliation, Harry came home and showed up at the flat that he and Louis used to share, bags in hand and eyes hopeful. They'd stayed together since.

The two of them linger in the darkness of the backstage area, both staring out at the dimly lit stage that will in a couple of hours be the platform for the contestants. Harry looks down at Louis and smiles slightly at him. 

“I still can't believe we were out there once,” Louis says quietly. “It feels like a dream after all these years.”

“I know,” Harry replies, distracted by the way Louis' eyelashes flutter against his cheekbones every time he blinks.

“I also can't believe the X-Factor lasted this long, honestly,” Louis adds, laughing at his own comment. 

“Some things last, Lou,” Harry says.

Louis immediately looks up at him. He says nothing and just searches Harry's face with his curious eyes. There are still times when he's absolutely overwhelmed by all the emotions that course through him when he's around Harry. Sometimes it's frustration, sometimes it's an old ache that he's not sure will fade away. But mostly it's an awestruck sort of love. And when Harry says things like that, Louis never knows what to say in response because … well, there doesn't ever seem to be a necessary reply. Harry puts into words what Louis himself feels yet maybe doesn't even realize. 

But regardless, Louis scrunches up his nose and retorts, “You're such a sap, Haz.”

Harry laughs and shrugs but says nothing in response. They just stand there for a few minutes, arms around each other's waists as they gaze out at the stage that catapulted them into stardom. Louis thinks now that he doesn't miss the X-Factor days, but he would never change the past. This is where he met Harry, after all. This is where he met Zayn and Niall and Liam. This is where he began to figure himself out and really started growing up. He'd ended up growing too fast and seeing the world's ugliness a lot sooner than he'd wanted, but again, it's nothing he can or would want to change. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Louis sits in the audience that night, alternating between watching the contestants on stage and the silhouette of Harry's back. He's sitting up at the judge's table, looking cool and calm. He was asked to be a guest judge before the new season had even begun and despite his misgivings, he'd agreed. _“I feel like I owe them something, you know?”_ Harry had said to Louis after he hung up the phone with the show's producers. Louis had said yes, that he understood. And he does. You owe something to everything and everyone that enters your life in some way.

When they're introducing and welcoming Harry on to the show, the camera pans over to Louis and suddenly his face is on the big screen, looking uncomfortable at first then awkwardly enthusiastic as he waves at nobody and everybody for a few seconds. People around him cheer, like he hadn't been the butt of criticism and negativity just a few years ago. Ever since he and Harry's reconciliation, Louis' been welcomed back into the public's good graces once again. Not that it matters very much; he is no longer a celebrity and no longer needs that sort of public acceptance. While Harry is still very much in that business, Louis' taken a back seat. 

The whole coming out deal had thrown people for a loop but by now, the din's quieted down considerably. When the paps snap photos of the two out and about, hands linked and stealing kisses, it's to highlight how cute they are, not to question the authenticity of the relationship. It had been absolutely terrifying, of course, just as Louis'd always expected it to be. There was no huge announcement out of the blue, just a subtle yet noticeable tweak in their relationship. There was a closeness between them that got hard to ignore. Questions started popping up and when Harry was asked in an interview whether he and Louis were involved in some way, he'd said yes. 

It was only a month after they'd gotten back together after the whole L.A. debacle and Louis was still feeling a bit shaky, not sure where things were going. After the interview, Harry had called Louis to tell him that he'd confirmed the rumors and there really was no hiding anymore. Louis had sat on the couch under a blanket and stared out the window for an hour before Harry got home and broke him out of his trance. Life would never be the same now that the entire world had been given a definitive answer. It wasn't even that he'd been angry or scared, really. It was just that it was finally _done_ , the source of his fears was gone and now he was free to love Harry as fiercely as he wanted. It was like having been starved and then given a feast. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Back home after the show, they make the trek up their bedroom, tired out by the night's event. Louis helps Harry out of his blazer and drapes it over a chair. Harry's busy talking to Liam, Niall and Zayn on the phone – they're all out at a bar, apparently, but remember to call and congratulate Harry on a job well done. They hadn't caught the show, of course, but they know that Harry did well because it's Harry. They all sound mildly drunk and they keep passing the phone around so often that Harry has a hard time following. Louis can hear their voices coming out of Harry's cell from across the room. After the brief conversation, Harry hangs up and watches as Louis steps out of his pants and skims off his shirt. 

“Thanks for being there tonight,” Harry says. “At the show.”

Louis looks over his shoulder, furrows his eyebrows. “Why wouldn't I have been?”

Harry smiles shyly and shrugs. “I guess I feel like I need to be grateful for every moment you're here for me.”

Louis scoffs, despite the happiness pumping through him. “Are you trying to get something out of me?”

“I don't have to try,” Harry says as he comes up behind Louis and wraps his arm around the other man's waist. He presses a quick kiss against the side of Louis' neck. “I'm irresistible.”

Louis rolls his eyes and sighs in a resigned way. “Yeah, yeah. Get in bed, will you?”

Harry shucks off the rest of his clothing and does as he's told, sliding into bed on his side. Louis follows suit soon after and tangles his legs with Harry's. They face each other and just stare at one another, their eyes glowing in the moonlight streaming in through the windows. It's something they do often, especially after a hard day or an argument. It's their way of making up and reminding themselves why they trudge through the occasional hardship and adversity. It's during these times when Louis finds himself thinking, _"I will marry you one day, Harry Styles, you insufferable, lovable idiot."_

Sometimes Louis can't believe that he'd gotten lucky enough to be given another chance with Harry after all the shit they'd put each other through. But destiny works in fascinating ways. And that's the truth.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_And even if it's dark at least we'll be together_  
 _Slowly sinking in the earth to lay forever_  
 _You better grab a hold and hold on for your life_  
 _Because you don't get lucky twice_  
 _No, you don't get lucky twice._


End file.
